The Daughter Of The Mountain
by Apollo Wings
Summary: Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar - Avvar Barbarian and Grey Warden. AU where Loghain charges at Ostagar, Orlesians attack Ferelden and many more twists to the canon Origins tale. Includes some DA2 cast and multiple pairings within. M for dark scenes, violence and smut. Ch38: Funerary Rites
1. I Am Avvar

Author note: Bioware never should have cut the Avvar Barbarian Origin. This is my take on a female Avvar Barbarian - using the knowledge that the DA wikia could lend me and personal head-canon. For any who get 'voices' in their head while they read dialogue, I imagine the Avvar to have a 'Somerset' accent. Do look it up on youtube.

May contain spoilers and references to the Dragon Age novels - all of course owned by Bioware and EA.

I hope to update once every fortnight - but it may be more or less often than that depending on how fickle my muse is being. Please review, even one word reviews or a rating out of 10. Constructive Criticism is always welcome of course so do give some if you have it!

**For a point of reference. (Please read this)**

1. There are three parts to an Avvar name. These are the first name, the byname and the clan name. As Avvar clans are matrilineal, the byname is used to show who an Avvar's mother is. "An" would indicate "daughter of" and "Ar" would indicate "son of". The byname is followed "O" and then the name of the clan. For example, Arcill Ar Dubne O Wyrmhold would be the son of Dubne from the clan Wyrmhold.

2. When two Avvars get married, during the ceremony the bride will sing a hymn to a select god while the groom attempts to undo a series of knots in a long rope. The number of knots the groom manages to undo will determine the years that the marriage will last.

* * *

Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar married to Svien Ar Hallveig O Auonar for the next three years and with one child; a son of her first marriage, Thorarin Ar Dyrfinna O Auonar.

In the Avvar tradition there was no permanence, no settlement and no ties that bound any. That did not mean that there was no love, no family or group emotion that brought the clan together as one. It is a matriarchal society that spanned the aeons, they were seen as barbarians by the lowlanders but that was never the case. The Auonar clan was odd in the fact they were settled in the Phoenix Hold.

Such violence and bloodshed was unnecessary nowadays. Only when the clan was so threatened would there be need for the warriors of the clan to spill blood and each soul killed on either side would be given in spirit to the Lady of the Skies, a proper burial.

Dyrfinna was one of the warriors, trained to fight with sword and shield, a defender of clan, faith and way of life for her child, for her future grandchildren and any descendants beyond. It was a high calling. One mantle which she took gladly.

She pushed open the door of her house, a scrub wooden building with a stone hearth and thatched roof, a modest home befitting that of a warrior and her family.

"Mama!" Her son of six winters age latched around her thigh. "Svien won't allow me to help him in the workshop."

"And too rightly. The forge is no place for a young lad." She pried Thorarin from her leg and stepped past him, placing her sling with the caught and field-dressed pigeons on the kitchen table. "Now clean up for dinner and fetch Svien from the forge."

"Yes Mama." The boy wiped a hand down his face and sighed. "When can I help in the forge? I want to be a smith like Svien."

"When you're able to hold my sword." Dyrfinna answered. "Without looking like a runt with a greatsword." She turned back to her son who was walking over to her weapon stand, gazing at the ancestral sword passed through the generations of her family. The sword that once belonged to her mother, Nikolina An Inger O Auonar, now the Thane of their clan and keeper of the apothecary. Such roles would be taken up once a time had come when the body failed at wielding the weaponry of youth and the ancestral sword would be passed to the most capable of the daughters. Nikolina had been a fine warrior in her time and a fair peacemaker, hence why she gained the mantle of Thane.

The sword was over twelve generations old. The blade replaced many times, the pommel changed - but the soul of the sword was the same. It was that sword first forged for Inger An Elsa O Auonar. It was tradition that names would be given to remember their ancestors. "But I'll never get to have your sword!" He groused.

"If I bear no daughters you shall. There are many male warriors in the clan. Like Grimkell Ar Amalie, Havarr Ar Gerd and Torbjorn Ar Agnete. It would suit you well with those strong shoulders to continue our line of great warriors." She ruffled his straw blond hair, inherited from herself and messy. "Now get down to that forge and get Svien. I should have had the dinner on ten minutes ago! Scat now young one."

"Yes Mama..." Thorarin patted down his hair as he loped out the house, wandering that amble of the young in the snow-swept terrain.

* * *

Dyrfinna was beating the rug out on the porch when she saw the strange man almost wander into Phoenix Hold. Her pigeon stew was bubbling nicely in the cauldron over the hearth and the light was fading in the sky, snow starting to fall. She left the rug and walked over to him.

"You are not welcome in these lands lowlander. I suggest you move on quickly." The man looked at her as if noticing her presence for the first time. His beard was neat and clipped close to his brown skin, his hair tied back and a single golden earring hung in his right ear. There was a sort of swagger about the whole way his body was held.

"A stranger, most probably armed and you speak to me. Interesting." Dyrfinna took a step back at his words.

"And why should I not? You lowlanders will not cow the Avvar into your ways and I am no meek woman-child. We are not barbarians but we will defend the clan should you be a scouting party." She cocked her hip and crossed her arms over her chest, the snow settling into the crook of her arms. The man smiled. Odd.

"Fear not good lady. I am simply here as part of my mission and am passing through, I nor any else of my order seeks to harm your clan or any other Avvar. I was once a friend of an Avvar by the name of Kell Ar Morgan." He smiled again, the expression not reaching his cheeks and he almost mirrored her stance except he placed one hand to his chin thoughtfully. She did not know the man as he was most probably of another clan but the names were traditional Avvar names. "I should be gone in a few hours so do not worry."

"See that you are." She walked back to her porch and saw to beating the rug again, keeping a close eye on the lowlander should he attempt something subterfuge such as poisoning the well.

* * *

The family of three sat in the room, sated from the dinner, Svien whittling a whistle for Erlend Ar Myrun the shepherd, his friend and father of Thorarin, so he would better control the sheephounds when moving the sheep along the slopes of the mountain. Thorarin watched the man intently, fiddling with the shavings that accumulated about his mother's husband's feet. "Enjoying yourself down there Thorarin?" The man smiled, his great black beard rising with the smile.

"Loads." The child answered, picking up the shavings and letting them shower out of his fingers.

"Dyrfinna? Love - how is the new cuirass?" He called out and his wife came out of the bedroom, the new leather wrapped around her torso over her tunic. He fought the urge to smile at the craftsmanship. It was his present to her for her nameday two months past but he'd only just finished the layers of leather to angle proper around her waist and protect her if Korth so decided she would take a sword to the midsection. He could work leather and metal better than any other in the clan.

"It fits well enough. Thank you love." Dyrfinna sauntered into the room and sat in her chair picking up her needlework and continuing the patch on the blanket. It would keep Thorarin warm in the winter, he was too old to keep his old blankets this year and it was good planning for the clan to prepare for the winters on the mountainside. It snowed even in this month of Justinian, the sixth month of the year.

A knock at the door caused Thorarin to jump from his playing with the wood shavings. "Down. I'll answer." Dyrfinna stood and pulled her son back, striding over to the door and opening it to the evening. "Mother!"

The elder Thane entered the room without preamble, her long silver hair flecked with newly falling snow and her woollen green robes wrapped tight, her wooden stave used as a walking stick on the sloping snow ground. She kicked off the caking of snow from her boots on the door jamb as she passed it and pulled her shawl off, draping it on her arm. "Good to see you my dear. Korth keep you."

"And you mother." Dyrfinna answered moving to take the green woollen shawl. "What brings you here so late?"

"I need reason to visit my only daughter and only grandchild?" She tutted. "In truth I am gathering the warriors. There has been sightings of fire and smoke close to the Hold, we must be ready in case of lowland invasion."

Dyrfinna cursed not sorting out the lowlander that had been in Phoenix Hold this afternoon.

She straightened out and almost ran into the bedroom, grabbing her jacket with the sheepskin lining from the dresser, buckling it over her new cuirass and tunic. She flopped down onto the bed and pulled her boots on and ran back out, grabbing her ancestral sword and her shield, neatly strapping the leather banded metal shield to her left arm and putting her scabbard around her waist as to unsheathe the sword at a moments notice. "I am ready mother. Where are the warriors meeting?"

"At the totem to Uvolla." Her mother answered, wrapping her shawl back around her shoulders. "I am due to continue up the mountain to Heidi, Elsa and Grimkell. Rally those already there my girl."

"I shall." Dyrfinna nodded and went to her son, wrapping her right arm around his shoulders and kissing him swiftly on the cheek. "Be good for Svien now. I shall somehow get word to Gunnhildr to send Erlend here."

"I will Mama." Thorarin pouted. "Can I learn to whittle?"

"Up to you Svien!" Dyrfinna called out, releasing her son and ruffling his hair again before he pulled a face, trying to flatten it out again.

"Come back unharmed love." Svien stood and crossed the room pulling his wife into his arms and nuzzling affectionately into her neck. "Keep the clan safe and kick lowlander arse."

"I will." She smiled and kissed him softly on the lips. "Keep Thorarin safe for me."

* * *

Dyrfinna kept close to the other warriors of the clan, their familiar greatswords, shields, bows, flails and tattooed faces lit up by the great bonfire. "Today we strike our foes!" Gunnhildr An Myrun shouted over the warriors amassed. "Our clan needs defending and we must keep safe our way of life!"

Dyrfinna joined in with the cheers. Her mother walked gracefully through the snow, the crunch of it under her heavy boots and stave as she made her way up to the dais, raising her arm and stave to silence their group, small but tempered by Hakkon Wintersbreath himself.

"Our clan." She called out. "If we are to be besieged by any foe we will stand victorious against them. Our warriors have been blessed by Korth, lending His strength to our own. We are tempered by Hakkon Wintersbreath, hardy as He! We are as clever as Sigfrost, His knowledge passed through our generations! Whichever that threatens us will be no match!"

There were more cheers before the Thane silenced them again with a bang of her stave. "If any fall be comforted that you shall be with our Lady of the Skies. That I shall prepare you for your passing to be with Her!"

The warriors of clan Auonar cheered again. "Korth guide you all!" Gunnhildr shouted.

"Hakkon temper you!" Dyrfinna shouted.

"Sigfrost teach you!" Torbjorn bellowed.

"Our Lady save us!" Heidi yelled.

"Let us attack!" Gunnhildr raised her greatsword high and the warriors yelled their warcries, charging toward the smoke that curled into the star and snow speckled sky.

Dyrfinna pulled her ancestral sword from her hip scabbard and joined the run alongside her fellow clansmates. This was their calling, each of the women and men here sworn as a protector.

* * *

This was no lowland invasion. These monsters could not be lowlanders but the creatures from nightmares of babes. They stood at the same heights as the dwarves and humans and numbered greater than the warriors of the clan by at least tenfold.

Blood was black and clotted on rotten skin, the smell of it almost gagging and one with a great horned helmet raised his sword at seeing the warriors, his maw opening to reveal spindly sharp rotted teeth as it bellowed. The creatures all moved as one, attacking without finesse and skill but with deadly brute force.

It was something the Avvar would be able to defend against and Gunnhildr as the unspoken leader of the warriors bellowed her own warcry as metal met metal, rallying their number to lay siege to these monsters.

* * *

The sight was blasphemous! The bear so enraged, bony bloody spines jutting from black matted fur, eyes enraged. Sigfrost would weep to see such a sight. Gunnhildr and Dyrfinna charged as one, Dyrfinna's sword swiping in a fast slash at the twisted bear. Gunnhildr leapt forward with her greatsword raised high, throwing all of her weigh behind the mighty blow.

The horrid bear growled and latched around Dyrfinna's leg and the young warrior saw red, lashing out with her ancestral sword to stab it straight through the massive head. She caught her own calf with the sword and screamed as the jaw slackened and her own blood gushed forth from her leg.

"Dyrfinna!" Gunnhildr growled and yanked her greatsword out of the massive bear. The smaller, almost dwarven sized creatures that threatened their clan were advancing. She would not let them. Gunnhildr raised her greatsword. Surrender was not an option and she would defend her wounded clansmate. "Korth give us strength! I am Avvar!"

Gunnhildr swept out with her greatsword and bisected three of the dwarven sized monsters. They would not reach their clan in Phoenix Hold! They would not touch her four sons or her sweet toddling daughter! Their blood would paint the snow red!

As she crashed through the creatures another joined their fight. Why had they become so distanced? The smoke had drifted to the east and the Thane had asked the two of them to route their attackers over here. Nikolina would weep so if they were lost in this! It was a male warrior from what she could see through the flying gristle. His skin dark and a sword and dagger viciously tearing through these monsters.

Dyrfinna bit through the pain. Gunnhildr was right. They were Avvar, they would not submit to mere attackers to the clan and they would route them out here. She would have the shaman Skolmr Ar Agnete see to it and her mother would apply a poultice. She would be tempered harder by this, it was the will of Hakkon that she would be stronger. She picked up her sword and ran despite the tearing pain in her calf and thrust the sword through one of their attackers.

She spun as she caught a shield to the side and pushed back with her own shield, bashing a bloody mark on the rotten monster's face and slashing at it's neck to bring it down quickly. It was then she noticed the warrior man aiding them. He was not of the clan, a lowlander and yet he was fighting with the strength of Korth himself, his blades flashing in the snow and starlight blindingly fast. The same lowlander from before in the Hold. He was supposed to have left the vicinity.

It was soon that they were bereft of more attackers and they heard the horn blazing in the Hold. These monsters had breeched the settlement! Thorarin!

"These monsters will die by my blade!" She yelled, fury flashing with adrenaline and her blood pumping the pain from her. There would be no monster that would stand between her and her son!

She ran back down the gore and blood slicked snow toward Phoenix Hold. "Are you hale Dyrfinna?" Gunnhildr shouted at her side, her long black tattoo down her face marred in the blackened blood and a cut slicing over the bridge of her nose.

"As long as Korth holds me!" Dyrfinna shouted. "These beasts will not reach our clan!"

They found the unknown warrior running alongside them. "Whoever you are lowlander I offer my thanks in your aide. If you will stand with our clan in this you shall be honoured alongside us!" Gunnhildr huffed as the three of them ran.

They came upon the settlement, the Thane with a sword in her aged hands, fending off their monstrous attackers, Svien had a great maul in his hands and his smithing apron over his tunic, smashing heads. Erlend commanding the sheephounds to attack and the shaman Skolmr commanding fire from the skies themselves to fend these creatures from their Hold.

Dyrfinna met alongside her husband as he swung the maul into one of the taller of these monsters, cracking the head open. "My love!" He fighting the urge to gather her up in his arms. "I was so worried you had fallen!"

"Where is Thorarin?" She demanded, shoving her shield elbow first at one of the tall ones.

"He is safe in the cellar. Erlend and I were needed." He responded.

* * *

They had fought throughout the night to fend Phoenix Hold from these monsters. Dyrfinna felt so wearied, her sweeping red tattoo that crossed over her eyes indistinguishable from the blood of their enemies. "Who is that lowlander?" She slumped down on the dais, trying to catch her breath. By Imhar she was so wearied! She had spent nights and days awake on end when Thorarin had been teething, when the boy had been a babe with a colicky stomach. This was more than tired.

"I have no clue." Svien clutched to his side and ambled over to his wife, hoping that their resident shaman had energies enough to assuage the tear he had received. "Korth's throne Dyrfinna! You're bleeding!"

"Aye. A great monstrous bear latched onto me." She hung her head. "I shall pray to Sigfrost for forgiveness in slaying His brethren but I was not willing to die."

"My child?" Dyrfinna looked up into the pale skies to her tired mother, leaning heavier still into her crooked stave, her green woollen robe and skirts bloodied from battle. "The lowlander wishes to speak to you."

"Me?" She furrowed her brow. "Why would I speak to him?"

"He is what is known as a Grey Warden. Phoenix Hold was attacked by monsters known as darkspawn, those creatures are those that prey upon our brethren dwarves and the order of Grey Wardens are the scourge of the darkspawn." Her mother pointed over to the warrior man that was cleaning up his sword and dagger by the candlestick maker's home. "But your calf needs seeing too. Allow me to bind it girl."

Dyrfinna felt a child again as her mother smoothed the thick red poultice over her gashed thigh, wiping the dirt and blood away before she bound it in gauze and bandages. "This lowlander Grey Warden. Has he a name?" She asked as she stood, pain shooting through her leg as she tried to walk on the limb now that the adrenaline of battle was gone.

"He called himself a commander. One called Duncan." Her mother nodded as Dyrfinna limped toward this Grey Warden.

"So you have a name lowlander. Duncan O Grey Wardens?" The man smiled almost affectionately.

"I suppose that could be said. In truth I saw the skill and determination on your face as you fought tonight. It was as if my good friend were beside me again." He crossed his arms. "And the wound your received on your leg could be tainted."

"I am Avvar, we are skill and determination in personage." She crossed her arms. "What do you mean on my leg? Why should I listen to what you say?"

"The darkspawn blood is toxic. I have informed your Thane on cleaning wounds and seeing to any that have mingled their blood with that of the darkspawn. Unfortunately you are showing sights of the Blight disease while none other has - it is luck sometimes." Dyrfinna furrowed her brow at that, unhappy with his response.

"You assume I am weaker than the other warriors of my clan." She said. "I will not have a lowlander, regardless of his connection to our dwarven brethren, say such things."

His face turned solemn. "I cast no assumptions of weakness. That you still stand is admirable. But the case is that you will eventually sicken and die from this disease."

"Then tell me the cure." She responded tartly. She would not leave this world when Thorarin was so young. Erlend would take him on and he would likely life with his sister, her friend Gunnhildr but a boy needs his mother. It was not uncommon for one of the clan to lose a parent, life was harsh and many died even in childbirth.

"The only cure is to become a Grey Warden yourself." He answered, his voice grave.

"Then make me so. I will not leave my family for the Lady of the Skies while it is possible I can live." Dyrfinna looked over to her husband and the father of her son. Comforting the scared child in their undershirts, most probably chilled by the morning mountain air but without this darkspawn blood on their clothes. Thorarin looked so small with the two men.

"I will speak to your Thane to make arrangements." Duncan O Grey Wardens bowed to her and Dyrfinna walked to Svien, Erlend and Thorarin, shucking off her jacket and cuirass so she could hug the boy without getting the blood from battle on him.

"I was good Mama. I stayed in the cellar until Svien and father could get me." The boy whispered, burying his straw coloured head into the juncture between her neck and shoulder and his fingers curling into her tunic, hands balling into little fists as if she was going away.

"You are a good boy Thorarin." Dyrfinna nodded, gathering him up in her arms as she had when he was small and standing up, he latched around her like a babe. "But you must be so tired. It will be a day of sleep for you."

"Dyr..." She turned to Erlend. "How have you been? Was Gunnhildr harmed?"

"Gunnhildr is fine," She smiled to her past husband. It had been Sigfrost she had sung a hymn to in their wedding ceremony and he only two knots undone. She had loved him and would always hold the man in her heart as she held Svien now and any future husband that would take her hand. "and I am tired. Very much so that the battle for our clan is done. How is your wife and newborn daughter?"

"Heidi seems hale even after this night and our young Katlana is sleeping to my beliefs." He wiped a tired hand over his nose, scratching at the yellow skin where his face was bisected by the tattoo banding. "It is good to see you well, I was due to bring a fleece for Thorarin only next week but it is always good to see my son. Korth keep you Dyr - I should return to them."

"It is good to see you Erlend." Svien clapped him on the back and drew him into a one armed hug. "I was busied last night with that whistle. Use it well my friend."

* * *

Dyrfinna sat in her kitchen, trying to eat her porridge but it was not staying down. Her mother and this Duncan had been in talks in her apothecary and home since the battle was done. She had since changed from her bloodied clothes and scrubbed her leather jacket, boots, britches and cuirass, oiled them to a high sheen and seen to the blood on her porch.

Life would return to normalcy soon enough and this battle not forgotten but spoken of over the great bonfire. There would be the service for Elsa An Gerd, returning her to the Lady of the Skies this evening, for she had defended the clan to her death last night.

The knock at the door drew her out of the post-battle lull and she limped to her threshold to open her home. Her mother and the Grey Warden were at the door and she invited both the Thane and lowlander into her home.

"My daughter..." Her mother sat at the table, new green woollen robes and her shawl draped still on her shoulders. "You will need to leave us."

"Leave?" Dyrfinna furrowed her brow. "Why should I leave the clan?"

"You need to become a Grey Warden. Duncan has confirmed that you were tainted by the darkspawn last night. In order for you to be cured and given a chance to live you must join Duncan and fight against such monsters... for the rest of your life."

"I can not even return?" Dyrfinna's eyes widened and she gripped onto the back of the chair at the kitchen table. "Why? Why must I fight darkspawn for the rest of my life?"

"In order to cure you I must make you a Grey Warden." This Duncan stated. "Grey Wardens are sworn to protect Thedas from the darkspawn for becoming as they are. Protectors of life."

Dyrfinna nodded in understanding. As she was a warrior and protector of the clan she would become more, protector to all life. It was a harsh sentence from what she could ken, to be separated from her old life... never return? "I could not be given leave for even a month to visit my son?" She looked over at his bedroom door. "Not ever even visit?"

"You should be given leave once a year." Duncan's mouth was a grim line. "We all make great sacrifices in order to route the darkspawn. You have fought them and driven them away. The Grey Wardens would be your new clan and we would not require you forget your old life."

"You told him how to speak to me didn't you mother?" Dyrfinna turned to the Thane who was busying herself with steeping her ambrosia leaves in a mug to make tea.

"I did. But Duncan has assured me that this is the only way we can move forward from this." Nikolina looked into her tea, still clear. "Come look at my tea leaves."

She leant over to peer into the cup. The water was not very hot yet. "What am I supposed to see?"

"There is a journey of great importance ahead you my daughter. I nor the clan should hold you back. Hakkon Wintersbreath has tempered you to a fine warrior, Korth given His strength and Sigfrost His knowledge. Do not waste yourself - become this Grey Warden and forge yourself against the darkspawn. We will honour you here Dyrfinna in our epics, sing in our ballads and drink in your memory. Myself and Gunnhildr will take care of Thorarin with Erlend and Svien."

Dyrfinna hung her head. She had felt assuaged by her mother's words. "I will mother. Duncan O Grey Wardens - will you allow me one more day with my clan to prepare to wherever you go? To say goodbye in hopes of return and be at the funeral of Elsa An Gerd?"

"I will."

* * *

Dyrfinna had been so wearied from the packing of clothes and other items of import. She put the locket containing the first lock of hair cut from Thorarin when he was two winters of age around her neck and hefted the canvas rucksack upon her back, placing her clan shield on the back of it and her ancestral sword in her hip scabbard.

She exited the house with Svien and Thorarin to the great bonfire for the service. They sat next to Duncan O Grey Wardens. Her mother stood solemn on the dais, the body of their fallen warrior laid out in simple shroud before her. "I have never been to an Avvar funeral." Duncan muttered. "My friend Kell Ar Morgan never had one."

"Why not?" Svien asked. He was cautious about his wife having to leave with this lowlander.

"They never found his body." Duncan replied with a sign. "Only his bow."

"Did they return the bow to his clan?" Svien murmured.

"It is a Grey Warden artefact. Tainted itself. It could not be given to them even if they existed. His entire clan had died shortly before he joined our order."

Dyrfinna and Svien hushed Thorarin from asking questions as the funeral started.

"O Lady of the Skies!" Nikolina An Inger O Auonar called over the clan. "We ask you take our daughter unto your embrace. Return her to your side. Elsa An Gerd O Auonar, survived by three children, Lowenna An Elsa, Kjarval Ar Elsa and Svart Ar Elsa and her first and only husband - Skormr Ar Agnete. She was a warrior that defended her clan to her end, deserving of a place amongst the stars. Guide her messengers of our Lady!"

Skormr moved up to the dais and raised the ceremonial funeral axe, closing his eyes. He brought it swiftly down on her neck, followed by jointing at her shoulders, elbows, knees and hips. "Lady guide you my love." The shaman sniffed.

Dyrfinna noted that Duncan was staring intently at the funeral, the shock apparent over his face. She leaned into him. "What has you so shocked Duncan O Grey Wardens?"

"I have never been to an Avvar funeral." He answered, gulping. The Thane and the shaman busied themselves with placing the dismembered parts of their clansmate upon a high tableau. "Why do you... dismember and place the parts of the body high?"

"For the Lady of the Skies. Her messengers - the birds - will carry her in small parts to return her to the Lady's side." Dyrfinna answered, as if it were obvious to any who could see. "How do lowlanders prepare their dead?"

"We cremate them and their ashes are spread into the winds." Duncan frowned but kept watching as herbs were added to the great bonfire, filling the small clan area with sweet smelling smoke and spiced mead was passed about in large steins.

"Barbaric." Dyrfinna sniffed.

They listened as the traditional tales were told. Of Imhar and an evil seductress. She lured him into facing her unarmed, then faced him with an army of demons. Playing the coward, Imhar lead them on a merry chase through a mountain pass. When they thought they had cornered him, Imhar laughed out loud. The great noise shook the peaks, and the horde was crushed beneath the avalanche he caused. It was a merry tale - one which even Skormr was laughing to.

"The Avvar do not mourn?" Duncan asked.

"We celebrate that life. It is not a bad thing to have one you loved returned to the Lady of the Skies. There is a solemnity in this - were it not a funeral Skormr would likely be with cheeks flushed from the mead and dancing. That he laughs holds Elsa in good memory."

* * *

It had been difficult to leave... Dyrfinna knew she had to do this. It was the will of Korth, Hakkon and Sigfrost. Perhaps her penance for the slaying of a bear. Svien had given her a fine knife which she kept on her belt, patterned in the Auonar clan banding. Thorarin had given her a small wooden bead he'd whittled last night before Svien was needed to protect the clan.

She'd braided a small portion of her hair at the front and placed the bead on it. The boy had been upset, it was natural - but she promised to come home one day and bring him a something equally as precious as he was to her.

Erlend gave her a small token - the silver circle band that Thorarin had been given for his naming ceremony. The shepherd had kept it as a reminder of his son when the two had come to the end of their marriage.

It was her mother's gift though. To make a promise to return, the strength of Korth and the temperance of Hakkon, the knowledge of Sigfrost with the cunning of Imhar anointed in spiced oil over her burgundy clan banding that crossed her eyes and the bridge of her nose horizontally. Dyrfinna made that promise and rubbed a thumb over her cheek to gather some of the oils, marking over the bridge of the Thane's nose where her white clan banding of the same style was.

Finally she was released from the ties of her clan, her duties to them forsworn. Svien looked particularly disheartened with the three years remaining to their marriage but he would find another as they both would have in those three years time.

"How does one become a Grey Warden?" Dyrfinna asked as they left the perimeter of Phoenix Hold.

Duncan looked sideways to the woman. "The Joining Ritual. We travel south to a place called Ostagar where the King of Ferelden is amassing his armies. The darkspawn have gathered there in the Korcari Wilds."

"Ostagar is a Tevinter word." She accused.

"The fortress is indeed Tevine..." Duncan looked uneasy.

"My people drove the Tevinters from Ferelden and lay siege in Minrathous and you seek to lead me to their old fortress. This is the irony of Imhar and penance to Sigfrost. It must be." She shook her head and hoped that there were no Tevinters that she would have need to be friendly to. It was something that she could not do.


	2. Not Kooky

Author note: So this doesn't just have the Avvar Origin - Amell is present, Cousland will be as will Surana, Aeducan, Brosca and Tabris will show up. Mahariel will not. Not all of them will be Wardens and some of them will only have brief cameos, some of them will even be integral to the AU plot. But I like cameo Origins. Also - AU. AU rocks my stinking cotton socks.

Note on terminology - they wouldn't use the term 'rogue' to reference to fighting styles. Zevran and Leliana would both be known as warriors rather than rogues. They'd differentiate an archer from others too. Hopefully this clears up any confusion - also I'm using DA:O style mage and fighting styles - so a warrior can fight with sword and dagger as can a 'rogue'. The difference that will be seen is that 'rogues' are weaker physically but much faster.

Also - Daveth is going to have a slightly different appearance so he's more 'canon' Chasind (btw - 'Ap' is used in Chasind for 'son of' and they are patriarchal.) Just a heads up. And Alistair is reeeeaally difficult to write. I never think I get any original dialogue for him right.

* * *

The journey down the mountain had been easy enough because Skormr had healed her calf up quite nicely once he could concentrate through the haze of spiced mead. Dyrfinna walked without the limp but there almost seemed to be dark grey veins threaded out where the wound had been and it pulsed hot.

They had set up camp in the plains and she had wished for a shaman. They knew of spells that could obscure them from view without need to keep watch.

For the third time that night she wished for Svien's warm arms around her and the comforting snore of his sleep. She wished she could wake up to hearing Thorarin playing with his wooden horse on a string or knocking on the bedroom door grousing for his porridge and milk. Korth give her strength but leaving them was more painful than the throb in her calf.

Duncan O Grey Wardens had tried to be accommodating, telling her of the customs of the lowlanders and that he had two more recruits in this fortress of Ostagar, one of which was from a clan not too different to the Avvar - a Chasind man. The other a knight or warrior from a city in the north of Ferelden. One called Daveth being the Chasind and Jory being the knight.

Dyrfinna felt as if she were missing a limb for being away from her clan. Being away from her mother, the smell of cloves and elfroot that filled her home; of seeing Svien bent over his forge - making more than weaponry and armour but small intricate pieces of jewellery and cart wheels; of training alongside Gunnhildr and her nasal laughter; Thorarin...

Dyrfinna curled up in the bedroll, the warm pulse under the skin of her calf throbbing hard. They would be in this Tevinter fortress by tomorrow morning. Two weeks of wearied walking where only the barest and blandest of foods stayed down. It was if she were in the first months of carrying Thorarin again and it was worse.

Duncan had said it was usual for those who were 'tainted' and she hoped that she could become a Grey Warden soon. How becoming as such would cure her she did not know - perhaps if she had this Joining Ritual they would consider her devoted enough and give her their cure. It would make sense and if the clan took in a lowlander disenfranchised with their life they would ask of their devotion to their way of life before say giving them a cure should they be the only ones with it. It would have been a president but it seemed the way they would do so.

* * *

Her limp had to be noticeable. Her vision was marred with small flashing lights of pink when the sun caught it wrong. Dyrfinna would have given her good leg for this to end. For to be back with her clan while she was dying. Had she not proved her loyalties travelling so far?

"Here." She winced as she turned her head to look at Duncan. He held out a red liquid within a glass bottle and she unstoppered it, gulping back the thin bitter liquid within. Elfroot. The pain in her limbs was numbed but still there and the flashing lights abated to the edges of her sight. "I haven't the materials to make you a Grey Warden with me but mark my words as soon as we start the ritual you will be cured of this."

"Lowlander, for the moment I expect a spirit bird to take me away before you do my funeral rites." She answered, holding a hand up to her brow to look at the greyed and cracked stone fortress ahead them. It was old - that much was obvious, as old as the Avvar clans that had driven the Tevinter away from Ferelden.

"A spirit bird?"

"The Lady carries away your soul but cannot take your body. That is why her messengers take us back to her." She stated. Why did lowlanders not understand - she had tried to understand why they cremated their dead - as barbaric as that sounded.

"Ho there Duncan!" Dyrfinna turned her head to the voice that knew Duncan O Grey Wardens and was nearly blinded by the golden figure approaching, flanked by a group of male warriors. His hair was long to his shoulders, a braid holding it from his face and he stood proudly.

Duncan dropped to one knee and Dyrfinna furrowed her brow - not understanding what had happened. "Your Majesty - I had not expected-"

"A royal welcome?" The man smiled. "And do stand up. I had heard of your arrival with a promising new recruit - I take it this is she?"

"It is Your Majesty, allow me to present-"

"There is no need to be so formal. We are to shed blood together are we not?" The golden man turned his attentions to her, almost weighing her up. "Might I know your name friend?"

Dyrfinna did not know who this lowlander clad in golden coloured platemail was but Duncan had deemed this man worthy of bowing to. She bowed her head rather than dropping to her knee. She would seem weak if her wounded calf caused her to not get up without help. "I am Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar. Now a Grey Warden recruit." She said formally. "May I know of your name?"

The men in flank behind the golden man opened their mouths in shock. The golden man smiled. "King Cailan. You are Avvar are you not? There is the remnants of one of your clans in the fortress, to scout the darkspawn here with their mabari."

"Which clan?" She did not know of any clan having been attacked but the Avvar did not generally interact often. Most clans were nomadic and normally it was only every few years that some would come to Phoenix Hold for a brief time. The nomadic clans were those that kept with mabari - the settled had no need for warhounds and they were bred to be sheephounds instead.

"I am unsure." He replied. "But they are proud of their heritage and I am glad to have their assistance here. I'm sure the Grey Wardens will benefit from you in their ranks - it is a great honour to be amongst them."

"Thank you King Cailan. It is an honour to take the mantle of protector." She agreed.

"Your Majesty, I bring word from Redcliffe that the Arl is able to have his troops here within the week." Duncan spoke.

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory, we've won three skirmishes against the darkspawn and tomorrow will go no differently." Dyrfinna nodded, her clan was not large and they had beaten what darkspawn had attacked the Hold. They were not intelligent foes but they fought with brute force - like animals armed with metal. Still, the Avvar were fine warriors - lowlanders were not well known in the clan as having such skill.

"I had not expected things to have gone so well." She said plainly.

"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There is plenty of darkspawn on the field but no sight of the Archdemon yet." The King shrugged.

"Disappointed Your Majesty?" Duncan sighed. Whatever this Archdemon was she was sure it was not good. What was the tale of the First Blight? It had been a long time since the ballad had been sung in the Hold.

"I had hoped for a war like in the tales!" The King sounded exultant at the thought. "A King riding into battle with the fabled Grey Wardens against a horde of tainted monsters."

"The tales of the Avvar tell of the feats in battle but not the sweat and blood shed." Dyrfinna pursed her lips. "I do not understand how lowlanders tell their tales but I would assume no different."

Once again the men in flank behind this King Cailan looked shocked again. "Ah - I hate to cut this short Duncan and recruit but I must return to Teyrn Loghain. He will wish to speak on strategies. Perhaps later you could regale me with an Avvar tale of battle?"

"I believe I shall." Dyrfinna bowed her head as this King Cailan walked away with his flank of easily shocked men.

She turned to Duncan O Grey Wardens when he was gone. "What the King says is true - there have been many meetings with the darkspawn here at Ostagar."

"And yet this King of the lowlanders does not take their threat seriously." She shrugged. It would be up to the leader of the armies to bring the threat to his attention. If the Thane of a clan was unaware of a threat their leader of warriors would take point. It was not often that her mother and Gunnhildr would disagree upon any threats though.

"True." Duncan sighed. "We Grey Wardens know that there is an Archdemon behind this, but we cannot ask the king to move solely on our feeling."

"What is an Archdemon? I believe it is referenced in the tale of the First Blight but it has been many years since I have heard the ballad sung." Duncan pursed his lips as if thinking of the best response as they walked into the fortress proper.

"One of the Tevinter Gods. They take form as a dragon and lead the darkspawn." Dyrfinna felt her upper lip curl into a snarl.

"Yet another thing we have the Tevinters to thank for then." She growled. "When are we to do this Joining Ritual? I am wearying more frequently from this taint in my blood - I wish the cure."

"Explore the camp ahead, seek out the other recruits I told you of and when comfortable return to me and we'll speak more." Dyrfinna bit back her comment that she would not be comfortable in this Tevinter fortress, instead merely turning to look at the ruined towers and walls with a satisfaction of her ancestors in driving those people from these lands.

"A Chasind man and a lowlander. There are many lowlanders that I can see milling about. They all look the same." How did they tell the difference between each other without banding and braids? Most of the men she saw were as man-child, without beard.

"Ser Jory is often by the Revered Mother." He paused when he noted her confusion. "Find a Grey Warden in the encampment called Alistair - he had blond hair and grins most of the time, he should help you."

* * *

Dyrfinna mixed the elfroot potion into her hipflask with the brandied water before leaving Duncan, wandering into the encampment at Ostagar. The smell of cooking and charring meats was comforting of the Hold. This was the sort of place her ancestors had laid siege to and would have walked. The wind changed and she took a deep breath in to steady herself.

Argh! What was that horrific stench? She turned about on the spot to see a great fire, bodies in shrouds burning upon it... their faces! Her eyes widened at the sight and she turned about on the spot, limping away. Lowlander funeral rites - barbaric. Completely barbaric.

Dyrfinna watched as a red-headed warrior woman was hacking at a training dummy, her sword glinting in the sunlight and her shield strapped to her back. No need to defend against a prone opponent. At her side were two other warriors, both with greatswords sparring against each other the younger of them with desperation and the older with a calm grace almost.

She kept walking, a priestess was up on a raised platform, a group of warriors crowded around. She kept limping hoping for the sight of either this blond that was a Grey Warden or the Chasind man. Would there be shaman here to aide her gait? That would be useful.

"Do you need any healing my dear?" She looked for the voice and found an elder woman in beige robes, her white hair tied back in a high, short tail and caring smile on her face.

"Are you shaman?" She asked. This was not abated by mere potions and the help of one with magic would be appreciated. The woman who had spoken to her pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. "One with magic." Dyrfinna clarified.

"I am." The woman confirmed. "Come sit down and I'll take a look at your leg."

Dyrfinna obediently sat on the stood the elder shaman had next to her, rolling up her thin leather britches to expose the greyed skin and throbbing dark grey veins that threaded her calf. The shaman moved her hands in a brief circle, a blue glow encompassing her hands and she hovered them over her leg. "How did you get this?" The shaman asked.

"A bear... one tainted by the darkspawn I was told." Dyrfinna remembered the bear latching on her calf, the pain lancing through her and how she fought back for her life. "Sigfrost will forgive me for defending my life."

"Sigfrost?" The shaman asked cordially as the pain started to ebb away. Dyrfinna sighed.

"The great bear that keeps the knowledge and intelligence of the Avvar and sits at Korth's throne." She answered. "We pray to him in hope for knowledge and if we are lucky he will visit us in dreams to bestow knowledge upon us."

The shaman finished up her healing and pulled down the leg of her britches over her low boots, patting her knee. "Very interesting. So you have been tainted. I hope the Grey Wardens have been informed."

"I am a recruit. Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar." She confirmed. "They can cure this disease in exchange for my joining their order. Thank you shaman for your assistance, might I know your name so I may keep you in my thanks to Korth?"

"Wynne." The shaman smiled. "But thanking... Korth?"

"The Mountain Father - every piece of good fortune is due to His will. I thank Him for your helping me." Dyrfinna stood and tentatively placed some weight on her wounded leg. It almost felt unharmed but for the warmth of the poison that was the taint that had afflicted her. "And I thank you too. Even my clan shaman was not this good a healer. Oh - and would you know where I would find a Grey Warden by the name of Alistair?"

"Oh - he was in the Toth temple." Wynne dusted her hands and got up with a small clicking of joints. "The southernmost one." She clarified.

"Thank you lowlander shaman." She bowed her head respectfully.

* * *

It was a good thing she could tell direction by where the sun was. Erlend had taught her when she was expecting Thorarin. That was a good memory...

She came upon two men standing in the temple - having an argument of all things. She waited, cocking a hip and leaning onto the ball of her foot on the unwounded foot, arms crossed. She was not her mother and one to end arguments - the peacekeeper - that was not her and so just waited until it came to blows or one of them got fed up and walked away. Living with Svien and before that Erlend had taught her that men would be men. Then she would follow this blond one as she assumed it was this Alistair she had been tasked to find. He would help her find the other recruits to report back to Duncan.

And sure enough - it was the man with the dark skin and floppy black hair in dark blue robes that stormed away, muttering under his breath. The blond man turned to her as if noticing her for the first time and Dyrfinna merely kept to her casual stance. "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together." He grinned jovially - a smile that reminded her awfully of Erlend. Korth she missed her clan. She missed all of them.

No. She was Avvar and would be tempered by Hakkon himself in this endeavour - this was no time for weakness. "That I see." She shrugged non-committally."Would you be Alistair O Grey Wardens?"

"Er... last time I checked. And you would be?" He grinned brighter before slapping a gauntlet clad palm on his forehead. "Duh - I can feel the taint in you. You're either the prettiest darkspawn I've ever seen - also the weirdest for speaking by the way, or you have to be a tainted recruit."

Dyrfinna shook her head, snorting. At least this Grey Warden wasn't a hostile lowlander. To think she was surrounded by lowlanders... "The tainted recruit - yes. You may call me Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar."

"Got a nickname? That's a little wordy."

"Dyrfinna suits me fine." She sighed. Only her mother and Erlend had shortened her name, she didn't like it and she made sure it wasn't shortened often. "Shorten it lowlander and you'll regret it."

"Yes ma'am." This Alistair said flippantly. "Oh - do don't happen to be a mage do you?" She furrowed her brow not understanding. "You know - able to shoot fire at your enemies _pew pew pew_?"

"I am no shaman if that is what you ask... you called shamans mages correct? For what purpose do you mention it?" Dyrfinna held her arms crossed tighter and shifted her weight to her wounded leg and then back.

"Oh - I was trained as a templar." He shrugged. She tilted her head questioningly. "Oh - you must know what that is right?"

"No. Explain it."

"Right - well templars are the sword of the Chantry and mainly they guard mages in their circles and hunt any rogue apostates."

"Three of those words meant nothing to me, what are chantries, circles and apostates?" He looked very shocked. "I do know what magic is - our clan had a shaman."

"Right. Where are you from? I've never met anyone who didn't know those things..." He laughed hesitantly and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I am Avvar." Dyrfinna shrugged. "So would you explain?"

"Right - well Chantries - that's easy. They're temples and the organisation that are devoted to the Maker and Andraste."

"Andraste? Lowlanders know of an Avvar woman?" Her eyes widened. "Oh do continue - I was just commenting."

"Okay - well mages live in towers and places called circles. Apostates are mages that don't." Alistair laughed hesitantly again.

"I see. I have much to learn about the lowlanders." Dyrfinna pursed her lips. "I need to find some other recruits before I report back to Duncan. A Chasind and a knight?"

"Oh - I can show you to them. Er... follow me I guess?"

* * *

This Alistair seemed unused to leading and actually walked beside her, directing Dyrfinna toward the Chasind man, dark tan with his clan markings like hands extending from jawline and up his cheeks. "Korth guide you Chasind cousin."

The man turned from the pretty woman he had been speaking to and the woman rolled her eyes - walking off. "An Avvar? Wow - didn't expect that. Weren't expecting a woman either - I owe Jory two bits now and a pint."

"Something I'm not aware of here?" Alistair grinned at Dyrfinna's side.

"The Avvar and Chasind both descend from the Alamarri clans - indeed - all of the Ferelden do. The Chasind chose to follow only Korth of the Parthenon - living in villages of the Wilds south of here, the Avvar became nomads of the Frostback Mountains following the old ways with a few clans settling in Holds. The rest... well the Avvar call you lowlanders and I do not know that." Dyrfinna shrugged. "I see you have been marked for adulthood Daveth O Chasind."

"I see you have too. Nice tats dove." He winked and Dyrfinna's eyebrows arched. "Liked how you completely forgot to mention how our people tried to invade the Alamarri after the schism though. Teyrn Hafter... bastard."

"Yes, that is history though - my clan banding represents Hakkon." She said with a tone of superiority. The Chasind man sighed deeply.

"Korth." He said. "Though you're wrong about the Chasind, some of us follow Hakkon and Uvolla still as well as Andraste and the Maker. Not the Lady of the Skies, Imhar or Sigfrost though."

"The Korth markings are different to ours. May I?" She raised her hand out in askance and this Daveth nodded. Dyrfinna touched the black hand shaped markings. "Hot irons - with ink rubbed into the branding if I am not wrong? We use bone needles."

"This is a great view into the Chasind and Avvar but didn't we need to find Jory and head back to Duncan?" Alistair interrupted. Dyrfinna pulled her hand back as if burnt and nodded.

"Indeed. Would you join us Daveth O Chasind?" The Chasind man nodded.

"I'll follow behind - better view back here." He laughed and both Alistair and Dyrfinna rolled their eyes.

* * *

The group of three found themselves near the priestess that Alistair muttered was 'A Revered Mother' when they found this Jory, a man with rust coloured hair and balding, a greatsword in scabbard strapped to his back and a nose that could plow fields. "Ah Jory! I have our last recruit. We have a set, Chasind and Avvar." Alistair greeted the man.

The knight turned and looked at Daveth and Dyrfinna. "I knew Duncan would bring a woman. Daveth-"

"I know - two bits and a pint. I ain't forgotten." Daveth sighed, a lopsided grin on his face. "Hey - I never got your name dove."

"Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar." She shrugged. "I never got your full name."

"Daveth Ap Aran O Lundar actually." He grinned. "Bit wordy I know."

"You bear the father name rather than the mother? How peculiar." Dyrfinna pinched her mouth to the side. "So you must be this Jory. May I know your full name?"

"Ser Jory Angus of Highever." He puffed out his chest a bit.

"Highever? Where is that clan?"

"Er... I know you were cut off from the world dove but Highever ain't a clan, it's a city. Ruled by a Teyrn and... well it's a bit hard to explain."

"I know what a Teyrn is. That the lowlanders still use an Alamarri term is odd." Dyrfinna crossed her arms.

"The education of our Avvar barbarian. Who'd have thought we'd be having a conversation like this eh?" Alistair grinned.

"Certainly not I when I won the tourney to become a Grey Warden recruit. My Helena was very proud but I expect she never imagined this." This Jory shook his head. "Did you need me Alistair?"

"Oh, we're heading back to Duncan. And we best do soon - Dyrfinna here is tainted so we had better make her a Grey Warden."

"You've fought against darkspawn?" Jory's eyes widened. "What was it like?"

"My clan saw the smoke and fire and thought it a lowlander invasion. It was darkspawn - they were hideous and one was blasphemous to Sigfrost. So horrid if truth be told." She answered plainly. Jory looked pensive a moment before Daveth shook his head and patted his shoulder guard.

"I'll explain later. Avvars are a bit kooky so make sure you don't lose track of her. And don't kill bears."

"I am not kooky. I do not even know what kooky is." Dyrfinna sniffed.

All three of the men looked like they had some sort of inside joke going on from the way they look at each other smirking. "Come on. Duncan will get all worried that we're gallavanting around. Then he'll get upset... and cry. We don't want that do we?" Alistair laughed.

Dyrfinna wished she was back with her clan as she followed the three men first to the recruit tents and then to a great bonfire where Duncan was standing. So much had changed so quickly. It was a test of her ability to understand and learn. Sigfrost would be pleased that she was starting to understand.

* * *

"Ah - you found them all." Duncan smiled. "Did you all get on?"

"What is kooky?" Dyrfinna asked - to whit Daveth, Jory and Alistair all burst out into laughter, Duncan struggling to train his face neutral.

"I'll explain later." He sighed. "I trust you didn't go around aggravating the mages again Alistair?"

"The Revered Mother ambushed me! And he was just a grumpy old-" Duncan cut him off with a roll of his eyes. "I'll try not to."

"So this Joining Ritual? Will we be doing it soon?" Dyrfinna crossed her arms and looked sideways at the three men with her. It was some sort of inside joke - calling her kooky.

"Ah yes. Alistair, I'm glad you're here actually. I need you to take the three recruits into the Wilds and gather three vials of darkspawn blood - one each. And also while there if you could seek out an old outpost of ours - it recently came to my attention that there were treaties of support left there that would be of use to us in the time coming."

"Darkspawn blood?" Jory quirked an eyebrow, sucking his cheeks in a bit. "For what purpose?"

"Either proof we can kill the bastards but most likely tradition I reckon." Daveth shrugged. "Anything else you want boss? Their teeth?"

"Do not be flippant." Dyrfinna half scolded. "You are worse than my son."

"You have a son? You can't be older than me!" Alistair's eyes had widened and he was staring intently at her.

"He is six winters of age. I had him when I was seventeen to my first husband." Dyrfinna shrugged. It wasn't odd for a woman to have children that late in life was it? "My second husband and I never did have any children though. Do none of you have children?"

"My Helena is expecting our first." Jory sighed wistfully. "She has a feeling it'll be a boy and we're going to name him after the hero Dane."

"Is it custom to have so many Alamarri terms used without understanding them?" Dyrfinna shuddered as her blood ran hotter in her veins - without thinking she looked up and saw one warrior and one very obvious shaman for his long ornate staff in hand. "I can... feel them. I can feel the presences of both Duncan and Alistair."

"We've spoken too much - you need to get that darkspawn blood quickly." Duncan looked over his shoulder. "Gregor, Lucien! What brings you here? I had thought we were camped in the valley?"

"I was apprehended by the templars Duncan." The shaman spoke. "They stuck me in the Fade area with the King's mages. There's something fishy going on here."

"They shouldn't bother you - you're a Grey Warden now." Alistair slapped a palm on his cheek. "I'll sort this out. Come on Lucien."

"No. I'm used to their meddling - very used to it in fact." He scowled at his boots before looking up. "No - the Fade. Someone is using blood magic and I doubt highly it's anything good."


	3. More Mead & Tales

Author Note: You all love cliffhangers - admit it. And you'll see a fair bit of AU starting up now. What can I say - an OC warden wasn't enough AU for me!

* * *

Dyrfinna felt compelled to follow the worried shaman Grey Warden. It was something the clan had to be sure their own shaman would not do - blood magic that is. There were the old magics but if a deal was brokered with a denizen of the dreamworld then it could endanger the clan. She knew that the tasks Duncan has assigned were important but... well this was too. It was about protecting clan and despite these other people not being clan... Grey Wardens protected all people, that was the way it had been explained to her.

A blob of pink swam flashing into her vision and she reached for her hipflask when she limped face first into something very hard and metallic, rebounding backwards and heavily onto her behind. "Korth's throne!"

"Oh?" A gravelled voice sounded faintly surprised and Dyrfinna squinted as her vision blurred. She reached for her hipflask and swigged the elfroot and brandied water, waiting for the pain to abate for a moment. "You should look where you're going."

"You shouldn't have been in my way lowlander." Her vision came back a bit and a hand was extended in front of her, a silvery metal gauntlet that belonged to a man with tired eyes, a nose that had been broken too many times, a grim line of a mouth and loose black hair, two thin braids, one by each ear. Dyrfinna took the hand and was surprised at how easily the lowlander helped her to stand again. "Thank you. Until I am cured I will be faltering more frequently I am sure."

He seemed to evaluate her with a sweep of his eyes. "You must be that Grey Warden that the King was speaking of." He said and the tone was not complimentary. Why would that golden clad man have spoken of her?

"I am not a Grey Warden as of yet." She responded. "Else they would have given me a cure for this taint."

"Ah." He rolled his eyes. "It sounds like the Grey Wardens to withhold something so that another would join their ranks."

"I was told they are protectors of people. Is that not true?" She furrowed her brow and the man looked over at where the Wardens seemed to be congregating by the shaman enclosure.

"They are too secretive for my tastes." He said plainly.

"I have found that too." She agreed, looking over to the Grey Wardens also before glancing sideways at the man, her arms crossing. "I would not have left my clan if not for this disease. I have found it difficult to adjust to being around lowlanders."

"Don't let them make you feel like you don't belong." He said thoughtfully. "Any man would objectify a woman warrior - and you are a pretty one. So show them what a sword is for." A ghost of a smile settled on his thin lips.

"I will. Might I know your name?" She turned more to him and he looked taken aback for a moment as if people already knew who he was before he knew who they are.

"Loghain Mac Tir." He answered.

"You're the dragon warrior?" Dyrfinna's mouth dropped but she did not allow herself to stand mouth agape. "My mother told the ballads of when the painted lowlanders, descendants of clan Ciriane, were fought and of a great dragon warrior that saw to their end!"

Loghain looked fairly amused at the thought. "Painted lowlanders. I should remember that one. Don't get any fantasies of heroes cloud your eyes though. I am a man as any other." He shrugged as if the thought of being anything else had never crossed his mind.

"You do not understand. To have a tale of a lowlander in the Avvar is almost not heard of." Dyrfinna shook her head. "I should have followed the others though. Thank you for your time Loghain Mac Tir, Korth give you strength and Sigfrost his knowledge." She bowed her head respectfully and went to limp after the other recruits and the Grey Wardens to the shaman enclosure. She was caught up by a hand tight on her elbow and twisted to scowl at whoever was holding her up.

"You need to have a healer look at your leg." Loghain said. Dyrfinna was taken aback by the commanding tone and the forceful hold on her arm. "You'll feel stupid if you fall in battle because of it and get killed."

"I would. But it is part of my affliction. When I become a Grey Warden Duncan informed me it can be healed properly." She pulled her arm from his hold. "And do not touch me without permission. You may be the dragon warrior but I am Avvar."

And with that the conversation was over in her eyes. Until of course the shaman Lucien was running toward her. "Teyrn Loghain!" He shouted. Loghain seemed to deflate as if he was to be going about some business.

"What?" He ground out. Lucien bowed hastily before wiping some of his black hair back and hesitating as if thinking on how to phrase what he was going to say.

"The mages in the enclosure... one of them had this vial of blood on their person. Have you been experiencing headaches, dizziness, loss of your train of thoughts and nausea?" Lucien pulled his lips into a tight pinch as if suddenly reprimanded. "Er... Your Grace... the mage had a vial of your blood to try and control you with blood magic and is in binds for you to question him."

Dyrfinna was incredibly curious now - and had wished she'd followed the Grey Wardens to the shaman enclosure. She tried not to let her limp be noticeable as she followed the great strides of the warrior to the mage enclosure, Lucien falling into step beside her and a green glow lighting up in his hands. A feeling as if her calf had been massaged thoroughly filled her and her gait righted itself more so she kept pace better.

"This mage had some of my blood?" Loghain addressed a man dressed in what looked to be a chestplate and thick leather skirt. The effect was amusing for the bright red colour of his skirt. The man looked ashamed at having probably done something wrong.

"Yes Your Grace. If the templars had known..." He trailed off and a frightened look crossed his face. Loghain drew out a sturdy looking dagger from his belt and crouched with a click of joints and clank of metallic armour.

"The templars once again prove their ineffectiveness." He commented before holding the dagger under the shaman bound's neck. His eyes widened to epic proportions.

"I'm so sorry! I was ordered to..." The shaman's breath caught in his chest. "My employer wanted you to be controlled."

"Who?" Loghain demanded plainly.

"He never said his name. Just said that there were Orlesian agents that sought to control you so it would be better if he could." The shaman closed his eyes, a wet sheen slipping their lids. "He said that I would be turned into the templars if I didn't do as I asked."

"Thank you for this information." Loghain grunted before pulling the dagger swiftly across the shaman's throat. Efficient and without a lingering death. He wiped the dagger on the shaman's robes. "Where is the mage that found out this?"

"I'm here Your Grace. Lucien Amell." Lucien bowed his head. "Though truth be told if the templars didn't think I had escaped from the enclosure rather than being the Grey Warden I am, I wouldn't have found it out. Why are the mages even 'exploring the Fade'? The templars on guard couldn't even answer me - just said it was 'mage stuff'." Lucien narrowed his eyes at the man with chestplate and coloured leather skirt.

"That is a question I would have preferred answered too." Loghain ground out.

"There you are!" Alistair sounded out behind Dyrfinna and she twisted her head to look at him. "Come on - we have to go into the Korcari Wilds and... and do the things we were asked. Maker's breath! That's Teyrn Loghain!"

"I was just going to join you." Dyrfinna took a deep breath and tested her reflexes in removing her ancestral sword from hip scabbard as she walked. "Could we ask that a shaman join us? Else I might be no use in any skirmishes we face in the Chasind homeland."

* * *

A shaman would not be joining them but Dyrfinna was given a few more of those elfroot potions which she put into a canvas drawstring bag and attached to her belt. It was better than nothing she supposed.

But these 'Korcari Wilds' - how did any live in the plains? It was a rolling landscape without shelter from wind and weather. In the mountains in may snow for all but half of Solace and August before the snow returned but it was sheltered from the harsh winds.

"There's rabid wolves ahead." Daveth pursed his lips, coming back from his scouting and standing next to Dyrfinna. "You two are gonna have a hard time."

"Huh?" Alistair glanced over to Daveth and then at Dyrfinna. "What's with wolves?"

"They honour Uvolla. While Daveth does not follow the Lady of the Forest he would still revere the creatures. Just as bears honour Sigfrost. I have angered one God by killing a bear, I am not killing wolves." Dyrfinna explained.

"Oh Maker's sake!" Jory groaned. "Fine - come on Alistair, our resident barbarians can't kill wolves."

"It's barbaric." Dyrfinna shrugged, smirking.

"Too right." Daveth smirked as well.

The two men left them standing in the stinking mud and there was a brief snarling and howling before a wet slicing and a yelp when the men came back.

"You two barbarian flowers feeling better about sending us against wolves?" An Alistair splattered with blood up to his knees asked.

"Oh much." Daveth quipped. "Well... let's get this blood, head back to Duncan and become Grey Wardens."

"Yes - the sooner I am cured the more I shall be at ease." Dyrfinna unsheathed her sword and pushed off from her good leg. She'd already strapped her shield to her left arm so she was ready.

It took no longer than five minutes before a lancing sort of pain filled her leg and Alistair confirmed that there were darkspawn near. Daveth readied his bow and was looking at the misty horizon, Jory holding his greatsword tentatively.

Then the human sized darkspawn, spindly teeth maws bellowing guttural cries descended upon the group of warriors. Dyrfinna shoved her shield out and knocked one back before swiping her sword out at it's neck and cutting a bloody trail across it.

A barrage of arrows slammed into another at her side and Jory had cleaved two in twain with one swing. She looked on as Alistair's sword burst through the chest of another and the threat was gone. They worked incredibly well. It seemed Duncan was good at picking those of unusual skill - especially for lowlanders. The darkspawn were as Dyrfinna had thought though - no more skilled than animals with weaponry and shoddy armour.

"Hurlocks - nasty but stupid. The short ones are genlocks by the way. I'll name them as we see them." Alistair breathd sheathing his sword at his hip.

"There should be blood enough here. We fill those vials - become Grey Wardens and then we should come back for those treaties Duncan asked for." Jory breathed, putting his greatsword back into his strapping.

"That would make better sense - I was tainted from fighting these creatures." Dyrfinna put a hand out for a vial and Alistair briefly hesitated before reaching into his belt pouch and handing her a glass vial.

She knelt down at her own kill and pierced it's forearm with her dagger given her by Svien and holding the neck of the vial to the small wound, blood pumping directly into it. "That's a neat trick." Daveth smirked. "This is the Chasind way."

Dyrfinna watched as Daveth sliced a line into his arrow spiked darkspawn and tilted the corpse so the blood dripped into the vial. "When you two have done with comparing tribal differences?" Alistair shook his head.

"If they were both men they might have gotten them out and measured. This is preferable." Jory said weakly, holding his vial at arms length and wiping the sticky blackened blood onto his greaves.

* * *

They returned to the encampment much quicker than Duncan had thought they would. Then again... they didn't look too bloodied either. Dyrfinna was limping at the front. "We bring the blood. That is what we need for this Joining Ritual to go ahead correct?" She passed over her vial to Duncan. "When we are Grey Wardens we will try to find this old fortress tower. It is foolish to assume an archer and three warriors will find it when one of those warriors is nursing a wounded leg that will not heal until she becomes a Grey Warden."

Duncan sighed. "Very well. How did you all find the fighting darkspawn?"

"Surprisingly easy." Alistair muttered. "You found good recruits."

"They will need to be good to face what comes next." Duncan took in a deep breath. "I will find Lucien to have him prepare the Joining - would you take the recruits to the Toth temple Alistair?"

* * *

"I don't like this cloak and dagger." Daveth pursed his lips, leaning casually on the stone table. "Why not just get this ritual dealy over and done with."

"The waiting is making me worry." Jory added.

"I have a headache. This taint needs to be cured." Dyrfinna looked over at Alistair. "Why not cure me then make me a Grey Warden?"

"You'll see." Alistair shrugged. He was training his face neutral. That much was obvious.

A warm feeling fizzed into Dyrfinna's veins and she turned her head to see Duncan and Lucien walking into this Tevinter temple. "And so we come to the Joining ceremony." He placed a chalice on the stone table and turned to face them. Lucien stood beside Alistair, leaning onto his staff. "Since the First Blight threatened Thedas the Grey Wardens have stood vigilant against the darkspawn threat. The Archdemon Dumat was defeated and so all the races were saved."

"But nothing is without sacrifice recruits." Lucien pushed off his staff and walked to be beside Duncan. "The Blight returned with yet another of the Tevinter Old Gods and once again the Grey Wardens were needed to fight this threat upon all life. We stand at the beginning of the Fifth Blight as lead by Archdemon Urthermiel and now ask that each of you take upon this oath that cannot be forsworn."

"Alistair - if you would say the words that have been said since the first Joining?" Duncan prompted the blond warrior.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you." Dyrfinna straightened up as if the whole of it dawned on her. They could die now. This Joining was dangerous enough to be deadly. Duncan turned his back and picked up the chalice.

"As the First Wardens stood on the precipice of the First Blight they took drastic measures to see it end. In doing so they mastered the Taint of the darkspawn and just as they - you too will master the taint."

"We have to drink darkspawn blood." Jory stated, his eyes wide.

"Amongst other ingredients." Lucien shrugged. "Alistair and I both had to go through this. Besides the taste..."

"It could kill us!" Jory snapped.

"It could. But I am to die regardless from the taint. Perhaps more taint will cure me?" Dyrfinna looked accusingly at Duncan. "This - is to cure me?"

"It will make you immune to it's effects." He said sadly, he took in a deep breath. "Daveth Ap Aran O Lundar - step forward."

Daveth stepped lightly forward and took the proffered silver chalice. "Whichever Gods are out there - heads up." Then he took a large gulp before handing the chalice back over. He took in a deep breath. "Tastes absolutely rank bu-"

He cut himself off as he collapsed onto his knees and the Chasind man grabbed for his throat. Dyrfinna stepped back. His head snapped back and he fell onto his feet backwards, knees still bend when his eyes shot open blank white. The crack on the stone couldn't have been healthy.

His breath was choked before he started vomiting, Lucien moved the Chasind to his side and held a hand under his neck, feeling his pulse. "He didn't make it Commander." He spoke.

Dyrfinna's breath stilled. "Lady guide you back to her Chasind cousin." She bowed her head respectfully.

"Warden Constable Lucien. If you would..." Duncan gestured to Daveth solemnly and Lucien picked his up by the armpits and moved the dead man to the side. "We can see to final rites in a moment. Ser Jory Angus of Highever - step forward."

"No!" Jory reached for his greatsword and Duncan passed the chalice over to Alistair. "I have a wife, a child on the way! I will not die now!"

"There is no going back Jory." He spoke quietly, reaching for his sword and dagger in threat. Jory pulled his bloodied greatsword from it's sheath.

"Hold." Dyrfinna put her hand up. "Jory - I have a son and promised my clan to return one day. You will do this because you will protect your wife and child from the darkspawn should you live. There is a shaman and Duncan who could kill you easily. Do not die this way."

Jory dropped his greatsword with a clatter on the floor. "I am... shamed." He looked morosely at the floor. "Pass that chalice before I change my mind."

Alistair walked over and passed the silver chalice to the knight who looked down at it as if he could have dropped in in a heartbeat. He took a steadying breath in before knocking back a mouthful and coughing after he swallowed. Dyrfinna moved forward and took the chalice from him. She didn't want to know if this was a death sentence - hoping it was a chance at life. Korth give her strength!

She looked into Jory's eyes as he started to shake, falling to the floor and swallowed back a mouthful of the blood in the silver drinking vessel. She handed it back to Duncan before coughing on the vileness. It coated everything in rotten blood mixed with metal and... she was going to be sick.

Her legs gave out on her and she fell to the floor without ceremony before she decided her head wasn't going to crack on the floor and laying down. The liquid was burning her from the inside out! She could hear a rush of air in her ears and her body was shaking. She closed her eyes.

If she was dying her last thoughts would be of holding Thorarin, of her wedding to Erlend, watching Svien in the forge. Her mother teaching her how to be one of the warriors of the clan. Gunnhildr and Elsa and sitting with the fellow warriors and seeing all their children playing together.

A dragon, purple and black interrupted those pleasant thoughts - it had such a beautiful song, one that seemed as if sung for the ages. It bore into her soul and a look of disgust crossed the draconic face before bright purple flames came from the snow white teeth in it's jaw.

She opened her eyes to try and clear the image but it was still there.

* * *

The blackness came quickly after that. The hot hum in her veins cooling to a mere pulse of warmth when she opened her eyes to see four lowlanders looking at her. "The barbarian awakens!" Alistair grinned. Dyrfinna rolled to her hip and spat.

Disgusting darkspawn blood. "Thank you for the warning that a dragon would interrupt pleasant memories of my clan." She ground out. "I am alive though. Am I cured of the taint?"

"You're more tainted - but immune to the bad effects." Lucien said 'helpfully'. "You saved Jory's life by the way. It wouldn't have been the first time a recruit was cut down for refusal of the ritual."

"It would have been a waste." She said plainly and spat again. This taste would not go away!

"Thank you. I was... I was going to try and fight my way out." Jory hung his head.

"It's good you didn't - there was only one death at my Joining and that was horrible enough. Two for Fin here would have been a great start to Warden life." Alistair shook his head in mock disapproval.

"What did I say about shortening my name?" She reached for her dagger and held thin air out. "Where is my dagger?"

"I had to take it off you. You could have cut yourself when you started shaking." Lucien held her dagger and she narrowed her eyes at the shaman. "I don't know if I should give it back to you though. I might get butchered."

"You might?" Alistair smirked.

"How are you feeling now?" Duncan held a hand out for Dyrfinna and she looked at it if covered in the same blood she'd drunk, helping herself up from her position.

"Like Imhar shook a mountain upon me with his laughter." She relied coolly. "My leg has been healed..."

"Partially the Joining and partially my Maker given talents. You are very welcome by the way." Lucien smiled.

"Oh - before you go running off anywhere." Alistair held a flat silver disc of an amulet in his palm, a red bead in the centre surrounded by engraved griffons and on a leather string. "We wear these, it's called a Warden's Oath so we remember the sacrifices of becoming as we are."

Dyrfinna took the offered amulet. "Was Daveth seen to?" She asked as she tied the leather string behind her neck, the cold metal of it clanging against her locket containing Thorarin's first lock of hair cut.

"He was cremated." Lucien frowned. "I couldn't think about doing his last rites properly. We have another Chasind in the order and he told us they... eat their dead."

"Preferable to burning. So barbaric." Dyrfinna grimaced at the thought and Alistair laughed. "What?"

"When the tattooed lady that everyone else calls something normal barbaric... and the oddest things aren't" He wiped a finger under his eye. "It's just funny."

"We have different ideas of 'funny'." She groused.

"It is getting dark. You'll never find the treaties today." Duncan stated. "The evening is yours now Junior Wardens. Tomorrow you can go back into the Wilds to find the tower and the treaties."

"I am going to find the Avvar clan here that the King spoke of. If any lowlanders wish to join us in the ballads you may." She nodded to them and took a deep breath.

It was cruel of the Grey Wardens not to have explained why she needed to join their order and she was going to let loose the only way she knew how. "You saved my life. I would be... honoured to join you for the evening." Jory said. "I was really going to fight... and I most probably would have died. With no chance to see my child when he's born."

"It was foolish - I just did what I would have hoped any would do for me." Dyrfinna shrugged. "Anyone else?"

"I could go for something to distract me from the idea of Chasind eating each other." The Warden-Constable shaman spoke. "Would the Avvar have a mage among them?"

"We have a shaman in the clans. Why not?" She furrowed her brow. "Is this about those templar things you explained to me Alistair?"

"Erm, yes." Alistair looked sheepish. "I'll explain more another time. Could I come along then? Seeing as everyone else..."

"Of course." Dyrfinna reassured him. "I'll show you how to find any Avvar if I get lost in future."

She grinned as they walked down the stone ramp into the encampment inside the fortress proper. The three men looked very confused before she cupped her hands around her mouth. She took a deep breath in. "Yodel-a yodel-a yodel-a ee-ooo!" She quickly moved her hand to cup her ear and waited.

"Could have warned me. Ow!" Alistair quipped.

"Shh!" Dyrfinna snapped back before the responding yodel came back... in the northwest. "Follow me then men."

* * *

"Korth give you strength brothers." Dyrfinna bowed slightly as she found the small semi-circle of five men. "I am Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar, now a Grey Warden. The lowlanders beside me are fellow Grey Wardens."

"And may Sigfrost give you knowledge sister." The man in the heaviest metallic armour nodded. "You may all join our fire. Will you break with us?"

"Huh?" Alistair sat next to Dyrfinna as she moved into the space that was vacated for them to join them. "What happened?"

"You were invited to eat." She gestured at the stewpot in the fire where the Avvar man with the Imhar clan banding was getting bowls and ladling stew into them. Korth's throne that all smelt so good. "So I suggest you eat."

"I am Heggr Ar Bronwyn and my brothers are Gusir and Arnkell also Ar Bronwyn as well as Steinarr Ar Josefina and Thorvald Ar Astrid - all the last of the Odelia clan." The Thane spoke. He gestured at each man in turn around in the direction of a sundial. "What brings one of the Auonar to join the Grey Wardens?"

"My clan was attacked by darkspawn and I was tainted when one blasphemous to Sigfrost latched onto my leg." Dyrfinna sighed. "What brings the Odelia clan so far from the Frostback mountains to fight alongside the lowlander King?" Four bowls were passed around to the Grey Wardens and Dyrfinna bowed her head.

The Grey Wardens were looking at her for prompt. "Er... do we eat after you or pray or..." Lucien pinched his mouth to the side and gulped.

"Thank your own Gods as we will... silently." Heggr answered. He passed more bowls to his brothers clansmen. Dyrfinna tucked in, it may have been the fact it had been over a fortnight since she'd had good homestyle food or the darkspawn blood that still lingered in her mouth but Sigfrost's pelt... wow.

"What is this?" Jory asked after he swallowed a mouthful, a smile on his face as he went for another spoonful.

"Rabbit, wild garlic and mushroom stew with traditional Avvar herbs." Steinarr, a man with a dark brown beard that tucked into his belt, answered. "And in answer to your question sister - we were attacked by lowlanders that called themselves an arm of the 'Chant tree'. Everyone, even children were slaughtered. We were hunting with our mabari at the time and became lost without our Thane."

Dyrfinna looked sideways over at Alistair how was eating his food very quickly and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. "Why would the Chantry kill an entire clan?" Lucien asked.

"They wished to place our shaman in bondage." Gusir growled. "Helga was only fourteen winters of age and my daughter." Alistair made a squeaking noise. "Is there something wrong with the stew lowlander?"

"No." Alistair said quickly. "It's really good."

"What do the Avvar say about mages then?" Lucien continued. Dyrfinna glanced quickly at Alistair before answering for the Avvar here.

"Magic is to serve man and never rule over him. Thus spoke the Avvar shaman Andraste An Brona as she helped her third husband Maferath fight back the Tevinter Imperium." She said, not wavering from the old ballad.

"That's part of the Chant of Light!" Alistair's eyes widened. "Except a few details."

"It's what the Chantry says too. So you lock us up and throw away the key?" The shaman of the Grey Wardens spoke.

"No. Shaman are part of the clan." Dyrfinna answered. "The lesson that the shaman Andraste tells of is that magic does not define a man or woman, it is a tool as a hammer or shepherd's crook. Magic serves the clan with healing but it also tells that we should not become corrupted as the Tevinters were, having their magic ruling them."

"I wish I was Avvar now." Lucien smiled. "That's the best view I've ever heard on magic, it's either 'we should be the best' or 'mages should die' - there's never an in-between."

"Tell me lowlanders - how many of the old ballads are known?" Heggr asked, chewing his food between sentences. "We were to tell the tale of Luthias Dwarfson in preparation for the next battle tomorrow."

"That was my son's favourite ballad." Dyrfinna smiled.

"I've never heard it." Jory admitted. "If you all tell me I'll try to remember it so I can tell my child when he's born of it as well as of the Avvar woman that saved his stupid father."

"That would please us lowlander." Thorvald nodded, scratching his black stubble. "If our Thane could start or would the Auonar woman like the honour?"

"If Heggr Ar Bronwyn would start." Dyrfinna deferred.

The group settled down and Heggr stroked the black mabari to his side. "The legend of Luthias Dwarfson. A long time ago the Alamarri known simply as Luthias was much smaller than the others of his clan when he was still only twelve winters of age. He was rejected from his clan and found by a group of Avvar in their travels. Steinarr - if you could continue?"

"The Avvar took Luthias as their own and in battle he saved the son of their Thane Mabene, a boy known as Tutha. Impressed with the strength as if given by Korth himself, Mabene took Luthias as his own son. He grew stronger still as the years passed, while shorter and doughier than any in the clan he was easily the greatest warrior amongst them and reknowned for his charisma and knowledge. Gusir?"

Gusir cleared his throat. "As a man, Mabene sent Luthias into the city of our dwarven brethren, Orzammar - to gain alliance with them in the trying times of war against an Alamarri clan." He took a deep breath. "Luthias did not gain alliance and fell in love with the King's daughter Scaea. Scaea and Luthias left Orzammar to return to the clan. She taught him the ancient dwarven techniques of fighting without pain and he became a better warrior still. Luthias lead his new foster clan into many victories against the Alamarri, succeeding Mabene upon his death as the new Thane. Arnkell, my brother - would you continue?"

Arnkell leaned forward onto his elbows on his knees, smiling lopsidedly. "There was tentative peace between the Avvar and Alamarri but it was not to last. During a feast the Thane of the Alamarri clan Morrighan'nan became enamoured with Luthias, seducing him. Scaea learnt of the tryst and fled back to Orzammar."

"He cheated on his wife?" Jory sounded shocked.

"They were likely not married any more in Avvar tradition, my dwarves have many concubines in their houses. The tale is unusual." Heggr answered. "Do finish your part Arnkell."

"Morrighan'nan wanted to become Luthias' wife but he rebuffed her offer, enraging the Thane of the other clan and causing a war that lasted fifteen winters. It was in the Battle of Red Falls, which in modern Ferelden is known as Redcliffe, that Luthias faced Morrighan'nan's clan again. Thorvald would you have the honour?"

"I would." The Avvar smiled. "A powerful young warrior from Morrighan'nan's clan challenged Luthias one on one for the entire outcome of the battle, Luthias accepted and slew the young warrior but was grievously injured himself. Morrighan'nan then revealed that the boy was in fact Luthias' own son conceived of their tryst and cursed him to be the fall of the clan from that moment on because he had murdered his own blood. If our sister Dyrfinna An Nikolina could finish this ballad, it being her son's favourite?"

Dyrfinna snorted a laugh and put her hands up as she did for Thorarin when she told him the stories. "Morrighan'nan defeated Luthias in battle after battle until his clan made their last stand at the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. That night, Scaea, having been exiled found his clan and offered Luthias a suit of fine chain in exchange for one more night as his wife again." She drew her hand together. "The next day Morrighan'nan and Luthias met in personal battle in which he slew her - but not before the Thane managed to stab him in the heart, the chain he was wearing unable to protect him. After his death a group of warriors of Orzammar retrieved his body, Scaea was able to return as daughter to the King again and Luthias was given a dwarven burial."

Dyrfinna smiled and threw her head back in laughter. "Korth gave him strength, Sigfrost his knowledge, Uvolla her empathy, Imhar his cunning, Hakkon tempered him, the Lady of the Skies her blessing and yet it was Scaea that held his heart. A funny ballad about bad decisions biting one on the backside. Thorarin loves that tale."

"I don't think I'll be telling my son that one." Jory laughed hesitantly and all the Avvar in the circle burst into raucous laughter.

"I don't get why it's funny. He cheated on his wife, died and his wife still revered him." Alistair furrowed his brow, causing the Avvar to laugh harder.

"It's about cultural differences. The Avvar are monogamous when married, our marriages lasting between two years and thirty." Heggr explained. "When we marry the woman sings a hymn to revere one of the Gods while the man attempts to untie a series of difficult knots. When one marriage ends we have a period of mourning before next Solace when we have a feast where the single Avvar attract their next spouse. They marry before the snow comes again. The dwarves conversely are polygamous, they keep many wifes or husband concurrently but will have a favourite. Luthias and Scaea's marriage had ended in Avvar law but not in dwarven. Scaea thought she was not the favourite any more." He shrugged.

"I've been married twice!" Dyrfinna smiled. "Erlend was the father of my son Thorarin and Svien was my second husband, the marriage forsworn when I had to leave my clan."

"I think the barbarians are confusing." Lucien muttered to Alistair. "And there was a lot of mead in that stew."

"Not enough!" Arnkell slapped his thigh. "More mead and tales!"

"This is where we make a strategic retreat." Alistair gestured for them the Grey Warden men to get up. "Will you be okay Fin?"

"Shorten my name and feel my dagger!" Dyrfinna laughed. "Tonight I mourn a Chasind brother and celebrate life with my Avvar brothers!"


	4. Heathen

Author note: So I told you it was AU right? Jory inadvertently got a bit of hero worship to Dyrfinna and Alistair realised he'd never understand the Avvar sense of humour. The AUs keep on rolling.

A big thank you to every reviewer as you've all affirmed my hopes and plans in this story. You're my lifeblood so don't hold back with anything!

Just to mention - our protagonist - Dyrfinna. Her name is said 'Deer-fin-a' - I was told by an Icelandic friend that I was sawing it right in my head so thought I'd pass that knowledge onto you.

* * *

The next morning Dyrfinna awoke at the burnt out embers of the Avvar bonfire, no more hungover than a few pints of mead despite the fact that they had been drinking until high moon, telling the old ballads, the Grey Wardens and talking of family. She reached out and grabbed her weapons from their place at her side sheathing them in her scabbards and sheaths before looking around at the fortress she was in. The rest of the Avvar were awakening too, each of them groaning and cursing Imhar.

"You seem hale sister." Heggr groaned. "Are we to meet this lowlander commander again today?" He asked the question as he strapped his maul to his back, calling his black mabari to his side from licking the remnants of the stew from the pot.

"Are you all still sure you wish to become Grey Wardens?" Dyrfinna asked in response. There was a collective nodding before Steinarr spoke.

"We haven't a clan to return to, no wives or children. It would honour their memory for us to become protectors of people again."

"Then follow me." She wiped back some of her fringe and the group of five warrior men started to follow her to where she knew Duncan kept camp.

* * *

She found the commanding Grey Warden sharing scrambled egg amongst himself, the Warden Constable shaman and two other Junior Wardens. "You found us. Nearly thought you got lost and then you might have heard me try that call of yours." Alistair said after a mouthful of his egg.

"I bring five recruits to the Grey Wardens that have fought at your side before Duncan. They have been informed that they may die and still wish to join the order in support of an Avvar sister and to become protectors of people." Dyfinna gestured to the men behind her, ignoring Alistair's comment.

"We understand that knowing it might mean our deaths could be a death sentence in itself." Heggr Ar Bronwyn spoke. "But we have nothing further to lose. If you would have more of the Avvar among you then we would find great honour in standing with Dyrfinna An Nikolina."

Duncan seemed both shocked and in deep thought. Lucien however seemed still capable of speech. "I never heard of anyone who _knew_, and still wanted to join." He paused. "Actually, scratch that - pretty much any mage would join the Grey Wardens to get out of the circle regardless to consequences. Lucky me eh?"

"You weren't supposed to tell anyone. Did you tell anyone else?" Alistair asked, his spoon clattering into his bowl and he wiped his mouth with the cuff of his tunic.

"I told no others, my Avvar brothers asked me if they could become Grey Wardens and it was only fair to inform them they may die in pursuit of becoming as us. I did not tell them anything else." Dyrfinna crossed her arms. "If you do not wish a possible five more fine warriors, the remnants of the Odelia clan, then they are willing to keep silent."

"No. This is a bit of good fortune. We need as many in our ranks as possible. Warden Constable - would you walk the camp and ask around for recruits amongst those that have already fought the darkspawn, Dyrfinna, Jory, Alistair - would you take these Avvar into the Wilds to find a vial of darkspawn blood each as well as those treaties? When you are all ready."

The response of the commander had pleased Dyrfinna. She straightened out. "The Odelia clan thank you." Arnkell nodded his head, smiling.

"You know - I don't think I'll ever understand the Avvar." Alistair wolfed down the rest of his eggs before standing up and grabbing his sword and shield.

"I would hope you would. We are the oldest true Fereldens." Heggr responded.

"And the most humble about that." Alistair quipped back.

* * *

And so Dyrfinna found herself back in the stinking Korcari Wilds, this time with the archers Arnkell and Thorvald, Alistair, Jory as well as Heggr, Steinarr and Gusir and Heggr's mabari 'Asgrim'.

"Where are we now?" Jory asked, shaking the darkspawn blood off his greatsword and grimacing. Dyrfinna glanced at the huts upon stilted foundation, an abandoned village of sorts.

"This is a Chasind village. That of the Lundar clan." Heggr answered him. "We were sent to scout here three weeks ago when it was attacked with the Warden Commander. Only the Chasind Daveth survived."

"We have mourned him brother." Dyrfinna spoke. "We celebrated his life."

"Do you always laugh about death?" Alistair asked.

"Often enough, at least with time when better memories arise." Gusir answered. "Do lowlanders not celebrate a death?"

"Er - funnily enough we don't. There's normally a lot of crying and such." He pursed his lips. "Sometimes there's bitter laughter about good times that won't happy any more."

"Pointless, the dead are with the Lady of the Skies." Steinarr sighed. "But this is not the tower of the Grey Wardens. We should find it and then return to your commander so we may go through this Joining Ritual."

* * *

Dyrfinna lashed out with her shield and ducked as Gusir shouted, his dagger thrown into the face of the genlock she had been in battle with she nodded her thanks before twisting her hips as she swung her ancestral sword to slam it into the weak armour of the hurlock advancing to her, swiping it in the broken chain to eviscerate it. Leaving the darkspawn to bleed out and continuing in battle.

Heggr fought as one with Asgrim, the mabari's jaws at his command as he swung his maul in heavy arcs to break bones and armour as if cracking nuts.

Thorvald and Arnkell were superb archers, managing to not break many arrows so they could be retrieved.

Gusir was incredible with his aim on his dagger throwing as well as the speed he could use his spiked leather strap to garrotte the darkspawn. He was not a warrior but had been a weaver before his clan had been killed by lowlanders. He had learnt fighting techniques quickly though, dexterous fingers working well with metal traps and fixing of armour.

Steinarr was a force of Korth himself, his greatsword easily bifircating the monstrous creatures.

The Odelia clan were an incredibly efficient, darkspawn killing unit, Dyrfinna, Alistair and Jory just adding to their overall effectiveness. "Do we get faster and stronger with becoming Grey Wardens?" Dyrfinna shouted as she thrust her sword down the throat of a genlock before shoving her shield out at the face of another hurlock. Her movements felt more powerful but it could be due to the fact she'd been near crippled the last two weeks.

"Yes." Was the grunted reply. Alistair was fighting a hurlock with some semblance of skill before a dagger zipped though the air and embedded in its skull. "Wow."

"I know lowlander. I am impressive." Gusir grinned underneath his splattering of darkspawn blood. That was the last one of this group that were attacking them.

"You're so right about the humble thing." Jory smiled weakly before shaking the corpse half on his greatsword off. "Is that a tower?"

Dyrfinna looked up to where Jory was looking, the crumbled remnants of stone looked Tevinter like the Ostagar fortress itself. "It could be a tower of Ostagar. But I see no others in this misty Korth forsaken place." Thorvald Ar Astrid scratched idly at his black stubble.

"Trust the head scout of the clan." Heggr nodded. "If our Warden sister would be the first ahead us?" He gestured for Dyrfinna to go first before calling Asgrim to his side.

"By all means - ladies first." Alistair quipped in deference.

"Don't look at me!" Jory muttered.

"Men!" Dyrfinna uttered, walking the marshy grass they'd splattered with blood and into the ruinous marble. "This place looks to be deserted but for rubble and a ripped blue banner that has been bleached yellow by sun and rain."

"Great. I suppose that's one tower down, how may others there are in the wilds left." Jory groused. "I am going to be scrubbing my armour for a week to get rid of the darkspawn blood on me."

"You could be dead." Alistair shrugged. "Then think what you'd be doing for the next week. Blood scrubbing almost looks a cosy job then."

Dyrfinna rolled her eyes, kneeling down and hefting rubble about. She pulled the sun bleached banner out and chucked it at the blond Warden warrior. "Hey! Not nice!"

"Is that a Grey Warden banner or are we wasting time here?" Dyrfinna asked plainly, shifting another portion of stone back over to Thorvald who then passed it onto Gusir. Their little Avvar chain gang seemed to be working well.

"Er - yes. The griffons on here are Warden design." Alistair furrowed his brow and chucked the banner back at her. "But don't throw old musty banners at people. Not nice."

"You assume I have to be nice." Dyrfinna said dryly in response before a boot was nearly standing on her hand. That was odd. She could have sworn there was no other living creature nearby other than the Avvar, the Grey Wardens and a raven.

"Who are you?" Thorvald asked - it wasn't good that even their scout did not see this person. Dyrfinna looked up as she stood taking in the appearance of the person in front of her, the boots extended tight up shapely calves to a ragged leather skirt of black before it stopped and a section on cream white skin was bared and the breasts of this person were almost bare but for the almost strategic placement of mauve woollen rags.

Heavy jewellery adorned the neck and chest of the woman before her gaze was met with piercing almond shaped yellow eyes, a pursed pair of plump lips on a young if weather roughened face.

"I would think the best question would be who indeed are you?" The voice of the woman was amused and haughty, each word drawn out as if pleasure was taken from speaking, the woman sauntered casually around the rubble, her leather skirt swaying heavy around her knees and her heavy jewellery clanking and jangling. "I have watched your progress in these Wilds of mine, both today and yesterday."

"Your Wilds?" Alistair asked sceptically. "Just how are these your Wilds?"

"She does not bear the Chasind markings of adulthood." Heggr pointed out.

"I am not Chasind." The woman sniffled. "But I asked a question. For scavengers of these ruins you are well armed, and for intruders well versed with traversing the terrain. So who are you?"

"I am a Grey Warden." Dyrfinna crossed her arms under her breasts, scrutinizing.

"Careful, she could be Chasind even if she denied it." Alistair warned hesitantly.

"Oh! And do Grey Wardens fear barbarians would swoop upon them?" The woman jabbed, a smirk curling on the edges of her plump lips.

"I happen to have enough barbarians." Alistair retorted back. "But yes. Swooping is _bad_."

Dyrfinna deflated and rolled her eyes before watching the unknown woman again. "I do not care for your origins. I think it best to answer on who you are."

"But you still have not told me who _you_ are." The woman smiled, an almost unnatural curve of her lips and flutter of her eyelashes. "How t'would it be possible for me to divulge my identity when your own is no more to me than 'Grey Wardens'?"

"I would be careful, as a child I was told of Witches of the Wilds and this woman fits the bill perfectly." Jory twisted his lips into a frown. Dyrfinna furrowed her brow, not understanding. Where the men warning _her_? And what was a witch?

"You play a game of jest. But I shall play - my name is Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar, may I know your name woman of these Wilds?" She kept her arms crossed and rocked back onto her left leg, cocking her hip.

"Now that was a formal greeting should I have ever heard one!" The woman barked out a short laugh. "You do not show fear like the fools in your company so you may call me Morrigan."

"She bears a name of ill luck." Steinarr breathed. "Who would name a child with such a name?"

"Indeed." This Morrigan snorted and smiled again, her eyelids closing and opening again languidly. "But do you place so much stake in these myth and stories that have you quaking?"

"This is a pointless endeavour." Dyrfinna declared. "We have treaties to find and to return to Duncan for to make the Odelia into Grey Wardens."

"Treaties?" Morrigan returned to her amused tone. "Why did you not say? T'was only the other day that I pondered when the Grey Wardens would seek to retrieve such items from this very tower."

"You stole them didn't you?" Alistair accused. "You're some sort of sneaky witch-thief!"

"And what use would I of rotting pieces of vellum? To hex them perhaps?" The 'witch-thief' tilted her head as if evaluating the former templar.

"But you know of their location." Dyrfinna pointed out.

"I do." Morrigan responded tartly.

"Who has them?" Dyrfinna tightened her arms in their crossed state, jtting her chin and straightening her shoulders out.

"T'would be my mother in fact." Morrigan leaned casually into a rubble dusted part of the stone that had crumbled, dirt and ivy crawling up into it and taking root.

"I find chance encounters such as these have happened much too frequently for my liking." Dyrfinna put her hand up to her forehead, rubbing small circles into her brow to ease the tension forming. It was chance that Duncan had been in Phoenix Hold when they were attacked by darkspawn and she subsequently tainted. "What assurance would you give us?"

"None that would mean anything to one such as yourself." Morrigan shrugged nonchalant, scratching idly at the cream hollow of her throat. "But follow me if you will, I dare not lie to the fabled Grey Wardens."

Dyrfinna weighed it up and chose to follow the curvaceous form that was retreating down the misty slopes in the Korcari Wilds, the jangling heavy jewellery, she faintly felt a warm presence follow her and looked behind to see all five of the Odelia clan following as well as Asgrim, Alistair and Jory.

"Don't witches in the stories put children in the stewpot?" Alistair jabbed jovially.

"If it's warmer than here then it's preferable." Jory snapped back, obviously ill at ease.

"I find it much too warm, but I have lived in the mountains all my life." Dyrfinna fluttered the collar of her tunic beneath her cuirass and jacket as if to drive the point.

"Seconded sister." Heggr sighed followed by a black mabari yapping in agreement.

* * *

This Morrigan looked behind her only as they arrived at a singular hut upon sturdy wooden stilts, smiling almost ferally at the turn of events before knocking on the door. It cracked open with a creak, a very aged face peering out. The aged face smiled almost as feral Morrigan before the door swung with a great creak to show an incredibly old woman, hunched in her back but her posture still radiating some pride, snow white hair swept back from her face with mauve red ribbons threaded throughout.

"Mother - I bring before you these Grey Warde-" Morrigan was cut off from her ways of greeting by a gnarled hand moving sharply across.

Brown robes and shawl covered her and she held in her hands three rolled pieces of vellum, all bound with a braided leather tie. "Hmm, not as I expected." The elder woman mused aloud. "But you should do nicely. Yes - quite spirited, incensed with values and strong. A good mixture."

Dyrfinna crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow. "You expected us to come here? And who do you speak of?"

The woman threw her head back in laughter and thrust her hand with the vellum rolls. "I have protected these treaties of yours. You should find them useful in the trying times ahead Grey Warden."

Dyrfinna took them cautiously, slipping her hand into the braided leather band. "You protected them?" Alistair asked, still sceptical.

"And why not?" The elder woman shook her head.

"You have to be a Witch of the Wilds." Jory stated plainly.

"And what if I am young man?" The woman smiled coyly. "Are to sure of such convictions?"

"Er..."

"And what of the only woman here? Do you think as these men that have such stern faces or does your mind have an open window in which you can view things differently?"

"I do not know what a witch is and do not care either way what a person is." Dyrfinna responded truthfully.

"A comment that implies more or less wisdom than is spoken. We shall see." The woman shrugged.

"But I thank you for these." Dyrfinna motioned the vellum scrolls. "We shall leave you in peace."

"Such manners, and from a barbarian no less. It seems that such virtues are found in the least likely places."

"Be on your way now." Morrigan sniffed, folding her arms under her impressive chest, the fabric of her 'top' barely concealing what was left unseen of her breasts.

"Morrigan - these are our guests. Show them the way back to their encampment so that they do not come to harm." The elder woman blinked slowly.

"Very well mother. Follow me Grey Wardens." Morrigan bustled through them before turning briefly. "Well - will you be standing there with your jaws upon the mud like fools?"

Dyrfinna sighed and started the slow, long walk back to the Tevinter fortress. She hated being here, now bound to these Grey Wardens for the gift of her continued life.

* * *

Muddied up to their knees, with a fine sheen of blood and unnamed foliage attached the group of eight plus a mabari returned to Ostagar before Morrigan turned her nose up at them, breaking into a run before there was a blinding flash of light and she morphed into a coal black raven, squalling into the pale cloud speckled sky.

"A strange portent, a shaman with a cursed name, old magic and who seems to favour the Lady of the Skies." Thorvald sighed. "We should heed this."

"Or forget the witch even existed and get on with our lives?" Alistair quipped, albeit hesitantly.

"That is what you meant by witch!" Dyrfinna slammed the heel of her palm into her forehead. "Sigfrost forgive my idiocy!"

* * *

The Joining Ritual was a large one, Dyrfinna, Jory, Alistair and Lucien standing to the side. Lucien had managed to find only two willing recruits in his wanderings of the camp, one a deserter called Uri from a cage that he conscripted and the other a warrior man-child with raven black hair.

In the end, only the warrior man-child, a man called Carver Hawke, Thorvald Ar Astrid and Gusir Ar Bronwyn had survived. Each man had taken the darkspawn blood and it was horrid to view the spasmodic movements of another as they fought the taint that attacked their bodies.

"I thought those three blond Avvars were brothers - like actual brothers?" Alistair muttered in an aside. "I think anyway. I have no idea actually."

"They were of the same mother but different fathers." Dyrfinna shrugged. "I will see to Arnkell, Steinarr and Heggr when Thorvald and Gusir awaken."

"You lot may not want to watch the Avvar funeral rites." Duncan warned. "They are largely different from our own."

* * *

Thorvald and Gusir had wept briefly when they had awoken, been given their Warden Oaths, questions answered and they had helped Dyrfinna with stripping the bodies and procuring shrouds, an item given freely and in abundance due to the death rate amongst soldiers.

Lucien and Alistair had seen to the barbaric burning of Uri with the new Warden Carver. The Avvar had watched this only for curiosity sakes, each as sickened by the way the flesh was consumed by flames and Gusir feeling the most queasy from watching.

"Would the other Wardens find our own rites so barbaric?" Gusir asked as he moved his two brothers with the help of Thorvald to the dais. Dyrfinna hooked Steinarr under the arms in his shroud to the dais and laid him out.

"I suppose they would. While I did not think the Chasind funeral rites barbaric - their eating of their dead. The other lowlanders found it quite distasteful." She wiped her forehead of the sweat and tried to remember the words spoken. The words of a Thane.

Asgrim sat on his haunches, watching with baleful eyes as his master was given his rites. "I shall start, for my fellow clansmen." Thorvald bowed his head. "Oh Lady of the Skies. Our brothers were honourable in life. You chose to take them into your embrace but their bodies remain."

"We ask that your messengers take them back to you." Gusir finished. Dyrfinna readied the axe on loan from one of the soldiers here and separated Heggr's head from his torso, following with his shoulders then knees and then jointing him at the hips.

Gusir took the axe next to his brother Arnkell followed by Thorvald to Steinarr.

The three remaining Avvar took it in turns to place the body parts in their shroud wrappings in a place high on the ruins. It was the best they could do. Suddenly a woman with grey hair in a tight bun, her face pock-marked and aged, a orange, yellow and beige robe depicting a sun over her chest rushed in, a fluster of linen and anger.

"Heathen!" The woman screamed. "Heathens! Have these bodies seen to properly!" Dyrfinna scrambled angrily down the ruin, her hand reflexively reaching for her dagger.

Alistair, Lucien, Jory and Carver came rushing behind the woman as Dyrfinna had her dagger out. "You dare speak to the Avvar in such a way?" She demanded, holding the dagger close but not touching to the wrinkled neck, her other hand grasping at coarse grey hair.

The woman for whatever strength Korth had given her did not waver, fire burning in her eyes. "You will die in a pyre barbarian! The Maker will not turn from such blasphemy!"

"Don't do anything Fin!" Alistair pleaded. Dyrfinna kept her clan dagger held at the horrid woman's throat.

"She demeans these brave clansmen with her words. Calls the Avvar barbarians and heathens when we have done so such thing over your beliefs." She spat the words out like poison, not raising her voice but keeping it to a low growl. "Your barbaric ways of burning the dead. We returned these clansmen to the Lady of the Skies. You have returned your fellow lowlander to your Maker. Let us be."

"Never heathen!" The old woman twisted her head, pressing her aged flesh to the dagger. "You can cut me down but the Chantry will attack you even more!"

"I make no martyrs." Dyrfinna lowered her dagger and pushed the old woman away by the hair. "Take her away and make sure she is made aware that the knowledge passed to me from Sigfrost allowed her to live."

"You did well sister." Thorvald nodded.

"Heathens!" The old woman shouted again.

"Come on. You have mages that haven't been scolded recently." Lucien took her by the elbow, leading her away.

Gusir landed on the hard stone and dirt ground from his place on the ruins. "I would have cut that lowlander down where she stood."

"I would have but the lowlanders think as us barbarians when it is they that forsook the old ways. We shall be as guardians to our ways in the face of their ignorance." Thorvald sagely spoke. "Come, we have much to mourn and speak of. Let us share this 'less barbaric' part of our rites with the Grey Wardens. We have herbs enough to cleanse the bonfire and mead to share in our steins."

"You shame me brother." Gusir bowed his head. "I follow you and the Auonar woman."

"I follow our sister." Thorvald looked at her. "Our new Thane."

"I am no Thane." Dyrfinna sighed. Asgrim was up from his haunches and licked the blood from her hand where she had held the shrouded body parts of fallen Avvar.

"Asgrim chose you to see to his master. He has chosen you to lead us and we do as you will." Thorvald closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in through his large nose. "You were the daughter of a Thane - you will lead the last of the Odelia."

"If it is the will of Hakkon. I shall lead us. Korth may have gifted strength to our number and we have been tempered. It is hope that drives me Thorvald Ar Astrid, hope and promise to return to my clan and the arms of my son. Whether this is enough a part of a Thane I do not know but I will endeavour to hold the memories of our two clans as one." Dyrfinna nodded and wiped her Hakkon banding over the bridge of her nose with her thumb. Thorvald did so with the green curling horn of Imhar down his cheek as well as Gusir down the long orange Korth stripe of his face.

The Avvar held their thumbs together, making the pact with the spirit of their banding as oath. "We are Avvar, we carry the old ways." They spoke as one. "May Korth keep our strength and our bodies hale, may Hakkon Wintersbreath temper us to the challenge of life, Sigfrost gift us the knowledge to act and when not to, Imhar His cunning and joy, Uvolla Her empathy and kindness. May the Lady of the Skies guide us back to her when we are done. We are the Avvar and we carry the old ways."

They broke their thumbs apart and rubbed the markings of the clansman to their right in their triangular 'circle'. Asgrim barked and brushed his bristly, black fur into Dyrfinna's leg. "May Agrim also hold to the Avvar too." She finished, swiping her thumb in the banding of Hakkon over his snout.

"Er..." The three Avvar turned to the unsure voice, greeted by a willowy figure, slim in plain tunic and tight linen britches, no shoes to speak of. His ears shot like daggers from his skull, mouse brown hair feathering over them. "Is one of you an Avvar? Known as Deer-something?"

"Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar." She stepped forward, bowing her head. "Child of Shartan whom the Avvar stood with to free you from slavery, what would you wish of me?"

"Oh Maker!" The elf's eye widened almost comically and he choked some of the saliva in his mouth. "A shem just bowed to me! My wife will think I lied when I tell her!" The three Avvar exchanged confused looks. "I was told to bring you to a war council. Apparently you made and impression on Teyrn Loghain and King Cailan."

"The dragon warrior and the golden clad men?" Dyrfinna questioned as she fell into step with the elf, Asgrim obediently at her heels - why the mabari had chosen her was any guess but it had. "Return to the Grey Warden bonfire where we shall mourn and laugh brothers."

"Er... yes." The elf scratched his nose. "You called me a child of Shartan?"

"The shaman that stood with the Avvar to overthrow the Tevinters and free the elven from slavery. I did - is that not correct. I admit I have only seen an elf in a picture so I might be wrong. Are you not the noble species of elf?" Dyrfinna was surprised when the elf laughed whole-heartedly.

"Not heard that one." He gasped between laughter. "I have to know where you come from shem. Really."

"You mock." Dyrfinna furrowed her brow.

"I might." His eyes twinkled and he smiled, the expression reaching his cheeks to apple them. "So what did you do to the two most powerful shems in the country that they both want you in the war council."

"I have no clue." She said plainly. "I spoke with both briefly at best. What is your name elf?"

"Pick." He answered quickly. "Quartermaster's personal skivvy and servant to pretty much everyone who has a copper bit."

"Well Pick, may Korth give you strength - or... did you say Maker? I do not know the expression but may your Maker give your strength." Dyrfinna nodded her head to Pick as she caught sight of Duncan, the golden clad man and the dragon warrior bend over a great oaken table, a weathered map lad out and pinned with brass tacks.

"Thanks." The elf shrugged and turned away. "Quartermaster'll have my head if I don't get moving though. Best of luck strange shem."

Dyrfinna walked slowly into the war council, confused about the child of Shartan she had met. He seemed almost submissive and meek, not as the tales told of noble willowy elves, their knowledge and smooth grace, noblesse and knowledge. But this war council was an important thing so she should keep her mind focused.

"What is that woman doing here?" She demanded of Duncan when she noticed the grey haired woman in the orange, yellow and beige robes. "She has no skills as a warrior from the soft hands to the weak posture - she calls the Avvar heathens. I ask you remove that woman from this council now before I turn back."

The men looked at her as if she'd just stormed in and demanded the blood of their first-borns as a breakfast with the pickled kidneys of their wives. "How dare you! I am here to make sure the mages-"

"You are no shaman, else your fingers would be blackened from fire and lightning. Leave." Dyrfinna walked over to the old woman and threateningly put her hand to the hilt of her dagger on her belt.

"You!" The woman stared defiantly at her before sniffing off in a huff of linen and flowery musk.

Dyrfinna walked nonchalant back to the table, small problem dealt with. "You shouldn't anger the Chantry. Our place in Ferelden is tentative enough without us having more people against the Grey Wardens." Duncan warned her.

"Chantry did nothing during the Occupation." The dragon warrior grunted. Dyrfinna furrowed her brow. "When the painted lowlanders invaded."

"Ah!" She spoke in understanding. "So why was I called here?"

"I wanted to see how you were." The golden-clad King Cailan greeted her. "Congratulations on becoming a fully fledged Grey Warden!"

"I hope to protect the people of Thedas as I did my clan." Dyrfinna nodded. "But that does not answer my question."


	5. The Blind Cynic

Author note: So I've removed any blood magic in Ostagar AND the Revered Mother from the war council. Let's see how Ostagar goes then? Hope you all R&R but most importantly enjoy.

I did change the tactics to reflect this a bit. The arrows mainly.

* * *

None of them were able to answer her question to any satisfaction before an argument had erupted. Men being men.

Dyrfinna kept silent as the dragon warrior and golden clad King spoke in heated words to each other. The King wished the painted lowlanders to stand at their side against the darkspawn, the dragon warrior did not. From the old ballads Dyrfinna also did not want the painted lowlanders to stand with them. The clan Ciriane were long distanced from the Alamarri and therefore Avvar, they had been vicious in attacks over the border of Ferelden close to her home of Phoenix Hold - her mother having defended their clan once down to the last two warriors including herself in one bloody battle that nearly wiped the Auonar from Thedas.

But the darkspawn where armed animals in skill more or less. Brute force is what they had - which could be defeated easily enough with the right tactics, her clan's warriors had been overwhelmed tenfold and only one death and her tainting to show for the battle. She crossed her arms, clenching her jaw. This argument had gone no-where.

Duncan was pandering to the King, causing the dragon warrior more anger. From what she saw it was he who knew the battle tactics and not the golden-clad man, it were a if a Thane wouldn't listen to their warriors.

It also seemed that the lowlander Thanes of settlements had been lax in sending their warriors. Loghain had wiped a portion of tin figures that represented each group of them to the side, scowling at them. For what purpose did they wish to have her view this though? None had answered to her satisfaction and watching the events had proven more confusion to the Avvar woman than anything else.

Dyrfinna let her mind wander to her clan for a while, thinking what her mother and son would be doing this moment. Likely helping Erlend in the fields shearing sheep, candle and potion making. Korth she was missing them so much. Imhar's luck that she had been tainted.

"Fine Loghain. Speak your strategies for this battle with what forces we _do_ have." The golden clad King leaned heavily into the table and focused his gaze on the map. His tone of finality drew Dyrfinna from her mind and she watched the tin figures get moved about to grunts of both approval and disapproval.

"Our forces will be split into two groups, one main body at here with the Grey Wardens supporting them." The dragon warrior pointed to the valley outside the Tevinter fortress, was that not where the rest of the Grey Wardens were in camp? "And a flank to the east." He pointed to a higher vantage point but off-shooting part of the valley that should slope to where this main army was.

"Right." The king nodded. "But we need a signal for the flank to charge." He pented his fingers together and scrutinized the map. "We could light the beacon in the Tower of Ishal?"

"The mages here could do that." A man with bald head and heavy eyebrows offered, his robes were of fine make and his thumbs calloused with magic use. These shaman were easier to tell apart but most seemed to be able to use a staff, making their hands soft.

"I was thinking of having Duncan's green Wardens go up there to light the charge." The King answered with a shrug. "I didn't think of that. Oh it's a much better idea, keep everyone on the field."

"Then the plan is settled." Loghain muttered. "Will you be at the flank?"

"Maker no! I intend to fight with the main body!" The King grinned. Dyrfinna couldn't fight the urge to slap the golden-clad King, instead she crossed her arms and gave the map her best glare, which was fairly impressive. Duncan had already bemoaned her for the words spoken to the woman who called her heathen, it would do no good to speak to this man that was treated with esteem. Even if the idea of a Thane heading into the main battle was ridiculous.

"You think that wise Cailan?" The dragon warrior arched an eyebrow, the grim line of his mouth turning into a frown.

"Why not?" The King crossed his arms petulantly.

"The Grey Wardens tend to draw fire from the darkspawn." Duncan pursed his lips, holding his hands together behind his back and straightening out as much as possible. He looked tired Dyrfinna noted. Too tired. "It may not be the safest place for you to be Your Majesty."

"Balderdash. I shall be in the thick of battle and will hear no more on it." The golden-clad man stood back from the table. "Our plans should suffice though, ready your men Duncan, we shall ready ours." He nodded to the commanding Grey Warden respectfully.

Duncan left the table as well as the bald shaman and the golden-clad King. When they were out of earshot Dyrfinna turned her attentions over to the dragon warrior who was frowning at the map, gently pushing the tin figures across it. "You know why I was here dragon warrior. Why?" She spoke plainly, in no mood for games of jest since the Avvar funerals, dealing with the elder woman, learning of the children of Shartan being not as she was told and the arguments of men.

Come to mention it she was still in a foul mood regarding her becoming a Grey Warden. Her Avvar brothers had understood only too well, which had been the true reason that they wished to join the order, trying to amend the fact she had lost her clan. It had been solidarity, only the kindness gifted by Uvolla could have prompted that from them.

"Before you were here, the Revered Mother and Senior Enchanter Uldred were squabbling and a woman of your description was mentioned by the biddy as a heathen that threatened her with a dagger. One of them had to go and I thought she deserved it. Consider yourself a means to my ends." He spoke, his gaze never leaving the careworn map but his hand vaguely gesturing toward her.

Dyrfinna leaned forward and pushed one of the tin figures further down the sloping valley. "There should be a scouting group so any archers have fair warning for volleys, as you first mentioned before the arguments." She spoke, her tone gentle - as if teaching her son. "You knew that and yet this King did not."

"Then you had better hope he sticks to the plan." The dragon warrior looked up, stormy blue-grey eyes meeting her honey coloured ones.

"If he does not?" She breathed.

"Then pray to your Gods." He said plainly, taking his hands from the table and clicking out his back under his heavy plate. Loghain picked up his sword in scabbard, wrapping the attached belt over his plate and picking up his shield by the handles. "I never got your name by the way."

"Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar." She bowed her head. "But if you did not know my name how did you send for me?"

"Your commander offered up the information." The dragon warrior shrugged. "Remember about showing them how to handle a sword, that backbone of your'll hold yo in good stead with warriors and biddies alike."

"I would have cut her down but for the mercy and empathy of Uvolla and the knowledge of Sigfrost not to make the woman a martyr." Dyrfinna shrugged. "I take my leave of you again Loghain Mac Tir. For a lowlander you have a semblance of honour."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He said, his voice a low rumble.

"One of the highest. It is not often a woman meets a legendary figure that meets to the standards of the ballads." Dyrfinna went to leave before Loghain snorted.

"Ha! A blind cynic!" It was the most amused his voice could have been.

"Possibly." She shrugged before actually leaving the war council table.

* * *

Dyrfinna returned to the bonfire of the Grey Wardens, familiar herbs smoked and her Avvar brothers ready for battle with the rest of the Wardens. She picked her shield from the ground and put her hand in the handles. Asgrim was stoic at her side, the hound as ready as any.

"Are you hale? We heard of the elder woman at the war council sister." Thorvald glanced sideways at her.

"The woman, or biddy as the dragon warrior called her - was no pain other than between my ears." Dyrfinna frowned briefly, her right shoulder shrugged.

"You met the dragon warrior?" Gusir remarked, his voice rising with the inflection.

"Carver you Blighted fool!" The three Avvar spun to see an archer with flowing black hair and piercing blue eyes addressing their fellow Warden. "What will mother say?"

"Miriam - I'm forging my own path. Get back to the Lothering Irregulars." Warden Carver rolled his eyes and crossed his arms to the woman.

"If all non Wardens could vacate? We're heading to the valley!" The Warden Constable shaman clapped his hands to chivvy them along.

"Take care sister." Warden Carver patted the woman on the shoulder. "I have my path and you have yours."

The woman left in a huff. Dyrfinna walked to the fellow warriors side. "You hold more wisdom than your posture would assume lowlander."

"Get off my back." He snorted walking with alongside Wardens Jory and Alistair with Duncan. Dyrfinna moved back to Asgrim, Thorvald and Gusir.

"Lowlanders are an irritable people." She commented.

* * *

Dyrfinna had briefly met the Wardens in the valley when a scout had run breathless, shouting that darkspawn were nearing. Warden Gregor - a man over six feet in height with a beard that took most of his ruddy coloured face grabbed his massive greataxe first, his whole countenance changing to be in battle.

An elf by name of Tamarel, a scrawny near white-haired individual with a bow was next to be ready. A thrum set in her veins, painful with burn and a feeling of disgust filled Dyrfinna.

"You're feeling the darkspawn." Warden Alistair muttered to her - her dislike of the feeling must have been plain to see.

Every warrior and their only shaman Lucien were ready within moments, they marched to the line of the main army, their places cast for this battle. The familiar adrenaline of battle was filling the Avvar warrior, her mind focusing to the task.

More women dressed in the orange, yellow and beige robes walked through the ranks, crucibles of incense wafting on golden chains as they chanted and walked. Dyrfinna kept her eyes on them for subterfuge - they were not to be trusted and had been noted as enemies of the Avvar and shaman now.

A horn was blown and Dyrfinna caught sight of the darkspawn approaching, the genlocks and hurlocks as well as spindly willowy ones with blades for arms. Each advancing with speed.

But it was one she had not seen that sent her breath to still. Gargantuan beasts, horned with roped thick muscles. "You know genlocks and hurlocks. Obviously." Alistair chattered next to her, obvious apprehension in his whole disposition. "The thin ones are sharlocks. Shrieks - you'll see about those. As for the massive ones. They're ogres."

"I feel better for knowing." She responded sarcastically, letting her breath out in a long huff.

A volley of arrows screamed over their position, each on fire and they landed in the advancing horde. They were outnumbered, these creatures were no more than beast with weaponry - unskilled. Their numbers would not help them now.

Another volley was loosed, skewering the front of the horde more as the skies opened in rain. Dyrfinna cursed their luck. Visibility would be low and their footing unstable. Damn lowlands, their weather was too hot and now it was raining. Raining heavily.

More arrows were loosed over their heads before the warhounds, painted in blood red kaddis were broken from rank, tearing into the darkspawn when the whites of their enemies eyes could be seen. Many were lost to swords but the darkspawn were not as intelligent as the noble hounds.

Dyrfinna roared, the sound guttural as she bashed her shield out into the face of the hurlock, her ancestral sword wildly thrusting under to piece the heart of the creature.

Blood sprayed her face from the hurlock and she roared again in the battle fury, quickly withdrawing her sword and bringing it heavily into the net foe, relying on this thrumming burn to pinpoint foe from friend in the rain and blood.

A sword sliced under her left arm and she drew the shield arm back, keeping the shield over her wound and biting through the pain as the battle adrenaline coursed thicker than her blood, swiping her attacker over its rotten face to cut it down.

The Wardens were fierce, blood and gristle flying in their wake, the army around them attacking with fervour from the sight, bolstered by the hope that this was winnable.

Dyrfinna screamed as an arrow embedded in her left shoulder over the top of her shield and she growled deep.

An arrow brought the spryly elven Tamarel down as it skewered through his head, Warden Gregor battling through with his axe a weapon of mass destruction as he cleaved darkspawn into shreds until the archer that had brought the fellow Warden to death was cut down with a giant slash.

Dyrfinna was thrown across the mud and blood by the arm of one of these ogres and she covered herself with her shield as best she could to protect from feet and falling bodies when it passed with a thunderous stomp. Fire cascaded from the skies and a horn was blown again.

She saw out of the corner of her eye through the grey of the rain a great fire take hold in one of the jutting towers before her shield was useful in keeping a foot from connecting in her face.

There was a thumping and screaming of battle cries and Dyrfinna stood up, muddied and still with the arrow in her shoulder when she attacked the genlock, it sprayed blood over her leathers and she felt another sword connect to her side, this time her right and another arrow embedded just under her ribs.

Korth's throne! She screamed, her ancestral sword wildly swung at her attackers. She would not die! Not now when their flank was coming!

The battle was being pushed toward them with the flank coming through the valley from behind the horde. Dyrfinna twisted and kept her shield over her side as she pulled the arrow out, blood pumping hot down her side as she discarded it. She felt so drowsy.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught blood covered gold thrown at two soldiers and saw Duncan launch himself at an ogre.

She tempered herself to the pain and blood loss. "Hakkon temper me, I am Avvar!" She shouted, raising her sword and gutting another of the darkspawn.

Another arrow hit her in the chest and she was pushed onto her back in the scuffle of battle. Rain splattered over her face and she saw the spirit bird itself, squalling through the skies. She was dying.

The Lady was coming for her, only the dying could see her coming for them.

A calm surrounded her, chilling the blood in her veins. Her clan did not know she yet lived and now she would die. She couldn't keep her promise to the clan to return.

The bird latched talons around her waist and she felt weightless before something heavy hit her head. Blackness consumed the Avvar warrior.

* * *

This was the afterlife. The cloves and elfroot of her mother's apothecary. It permeated the very air. Dyrfinna opened her eyes, expecting the faces of the Gods, pictures, totems and statues being what she could base their appearance on.

Instead a wooden roof beam in her blurred vision, the gauze and linen of bandages wrapped around her aching limbs. This was not her mother's house. It had a thatched roof. Cautious of what the afterlife could have placed her she sat, finding herself in a wooden house of sorts, a woman with her back turned to her but lots of cream skin on show for the fact she was clothed seemed her only guide to this afterlife.

"Are you to bring me to the Lady of the Skies?" Dyrfinna found her voice hoarse, misuse having made her throat dry beyond measure. The woman turned around from tending to the cauldron over the hearth, yellow almond shaped eyes locked onto her form.

Korth's throne! The woman of the Wilds... the one with the portent name! "Finally you awaken. Mother _shall_ be pleased." The woman spoke, a smile ghosting her plump lips and her eyelashes fluttering. Dyrfinna backed on the bed, gazing down her bandaged form and the staining of blood that seeped into the linen and gauze. By Imhar her head was throbbing!

"Where am I shaman?" She demanded.

"You are in a hut." The woman responded cryptically. "In the Korcari Wilds if you wish more information."

"Why?" Dyrfinna struggled through the haze in her head. This was not the afterlife. Pain was supposed to be bereft in the afterlife. So where had the spirit bird come from? Had she truly been taken before being brought back?

"I have no clue as to why." The woman shrugged, shoulders bare arching gracefully like a feline in the movement. "Mother has her reasons I am sure. What those reasons are - tis only a herself who is privy to such information."

"There was battle." Dyrfinna stated, almost redundantly considering the fact she has been wounded and bandaged. "I died. The spirit bird took me."

"So you were awake to see the great bird mother morphed to? She thought it amusing to be such a saviour."

Dyrfinna narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow. What was being said here? "I am not dead. What happened in the battle shaman?"

"The army overwhelmed, the Grey Wardens near extinct." The woman smirked nonchalant. "Consider yourself of a dying breed."

"Make sense now shaman or by Korth I shall strike you down." Dyrfinna reached reflexively for her ancestral sword before she realised it was not in a scabbard on her hip, there were no clothes on her but some smallclothes and the bandages.

"I am petrified." The woman drawled, her eyes blinked languidly. "Get off the bed and get out of this hut, my mother wished to speak to you once you'd awoken. There is a fellow of yours that feared your life outside too."

"Fellow Avvar?" She cautiously asked, scanning the hut for some clothes of sorts. Her gaze landed on her own tunic, cuirass, sheepskin and leather jacket as well as leather britches and boots. Each in pristine condition. There was a weight around her neck and she reached to it, touching to the locket of Thorarin's hair and the flat disc of the Warden Oath.

"Unfortunately not. A bumbling blond fool that bemoaned the losses at your battle, blaming himself. I daresay he might fall upon his sword in grief - t'would be amusing to see the spectacle."

Dyrfinna rolled her eyes. She had no clue as to who was outside this hut she had found herself in but the shaman did not like the man. She dressed quickly, lacing her britches tight and tucking her tunic into the leather before strapping her cuirass around her middle. There was not even signs of repair on her leather. As if the battle had been in the dreamworld.

Finally she slipped her boots on and her leather jacket put on over her shoulders. Dyrfinna caught the sight of her belt with scabbard and sheath, both dagger and ancestral sword in place before she wrapped the thick leather around her waist. She picked up her shield and slipped it onto the strapping so designed on the back of her jacket. "Thank you Morrigan for what help you have given me." She bowed her head to the portent named shaman.

"I... you are welcome. But the healing arts are not mine. Thank my mother." Morrigan stiffened in response to the thanks and opened the door.

"See, you worry too much young man." The elder woman - obviously a shaman from what information Dyrfinna could gather spoke. "I told you she would be well and here she is."

"Maker's breath! I saw you peppered with arrows! You were dead!" She turned her gaze to see Warden Alistair of all people rushing toward her before she was eclipsed into a tight hug. Dyrfinna eeped. "Oh sorry!"

"Lowlander that was painful. Now would you explain what happened rather than it being like pulling teeth for me to get such information from the shaman?" She crossed her arms under her breasts and cocked her hip, albeit painfully but comfort soon settled into the posture.

Alistair narrowed his eyes at the barely dressed shaman behind her. "You told her nothing?"

"I was told the Grey Wardens were nearly extinct." Dyrfinna frowned.

"The battle was too much. I don't know... but we could be the last two." Alistair mimicked her frown. "Maker I hope not."

"What?" Dyrfinna furrowed her brow.

"The King... everyone is dead. There might be stragglers. I hope there is." His voice cracked. "I just... I wish I could have done something."

"One man does nothing compared to the whole." Dyrfinna said sagely.

"This Grey Warden is not wholly correct." The elder shaman spoke. "But things are odd, there may not be naught for you all."

"Huh?" Alistair blinked. "Wait... I feel something... like... another Grey Warden..."

Dyrfinna closed her eyes and she could feel something warm in her veins. "Yodel-a yodel-a yodel-a ee oo!" She screamed the call as loudly as possible and there was a responding call!

"The Avvar!" Alistair's eyes widened. "We aren't the only ones! Ostagar wasn't lost!"

"Of course not." Dyrfinna rolled her eyes. "The darkspawn are mindless, no better than armed animals and there were many valiant warriors on the field even if it came down to one troop they could have won, albeit barely. So... shaman - why are we here?"

"You are important." Was the reply from the elder shaman. "Why else?"

"I was dead." Dyrfinna rolled her eyes. "I must have been for the rules of magic to have been bent."

"Er... thank you by the way. For saving us." Alistair rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yes... I should not appear ungrateful, you have helped me keep my promise to my clan to return one day." Dyrfinna bowed her head in respect to the elder shaman.

"You spoke as if I were not here. Why talk to me now!" She snorted amusedly, rolling her eyes.

"But we don't even know your name." Alistair bit his lip.

"Oh any name would suit me fine and I have gone by many over the years." She waved a hand, pausing. "Asha'bellanar, Flemeth-"

"_The _Flemeth?" Alistair gawked.

"Who?"

"An old hag that talks too much." Alistair snorted to himself.

"Your people might know me by a different name but it has been many years since I was last known by it." The elder shaman turned to Dyrfinna. "That is if they speak of me."

"Dyrfinna!" She turned to the voice and was assuaged to see the curling green horns of Imhar marking Thorvald Ar Astrid, a black mabari running along his side, flanked by Warden Constable Lucien and Warden Carver. "Korth's throne! We were sent to scout when... well... the call!"

The mabari barrelled into her thighs, pink tongue seeking her hands. "Asgrim you soppy animal!" She cooed, kneeling to breathe in the neck of the hound, rubbing her nose into his coarse oily fur. "Who else survived?"

"We're the last." Lucien took in a deep breath.

"I had hoped... Duncan..." Alistair's face fell. "What's happening in Ostagar?"

"The battle was a week ago. We couldn't find either of your bodies... so we had to look for Dyrfinna's... there's compelling reasons that we were to retrieve it." Lucien twisted his mouth into a frown. "Come. We should return to Ostagar and inform Loghain that we have two more in our number."

"Let us go then." Dyrfinna turned to 'Flemeth' and bowed her head in respect. "Thank you. For everything."

"Do not be hasty." 'Flemeth' put her wrinkled hand up. "I have not done. I ask that you Grey Wardens take something of mine. Safe keeping as it were."

"Anything." Lucien promised. He wasn't to know that they'd been taken in the midst of battle. But he might have heard of this shaman.

"Then I ask you shelter my daughter." 'Flemeth' gestured to the barely-dressed woman. The woman spoken of looked very much shocked at the revelation as they felt.

"What! I will not be amongst these fools!" She shouted.

"Nonsense, you've been itching to get out of these wilds for years. Here is your chance." 'Flemeth' shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"But I am not ready! I... will do as you say." She deflated slightly. "Allow me to gather some of my things."

"Do we really want to take an apostate with us?" Alistair breathed when Morrigan had disappeared into the hut.

"Shaman are useful. Why not? We will protect Morrigan in exchange for her mother's care of us. It is a simple deal been made." Dyrfinna shrugged.

"We're taking a mage with us?" Carver groaned, putting a hand to his brow. "Just great. I go from one apostate to another."

* * *

During the journey to Ostagar much was spoken, Carver explaining that his sister was a shaman, Lucien had taken the reins as commanding Grey Warden, Thorvald had done the funeral rites for Gusir. Every other Grey Warden had died on the field. Each commended for their deaths. Then Lucien explained that 'Flemeth' if actually as the legend was told, was an ancient shaman, one that dealt with demons and spirits to heighten her powers. A woman told in tales to scare children.

Alistair was silent and Morrigan cold in posture, her heavy jewellery the only sound that she was even there. "So what is the plan?" Dyrfinna asked of Lucien.

"The army is moving north, regrouping at Lothering to rally refugees further north to Denerim." Lucien replied. The mantle of commander seemed to weigh on him and he closed his eyes briefly. "We're emptying the encampment of everything salvageable, from weaponry to tents. Would you know where Duncan put those treaties you got?"

"They were put... in Alistair's pack." Dyrfinna furrowed her brow. "We have them. Why?"

"I looked at them. We have three groups to get aide from against this Blight. Magi, dwarves and the Dalish elves."

"The Avvar would help." Thorvald spoke, scratching his black stubble. "There are three clans in the Frostbacks that are settled."

"Phoenix Hold, Wyvern Hold and Griffon Hold." Dyrfinna added. "They should. But there are more than Avvar, shaman, elves and dwarves. There is the Chasind, the lowlanders in all the places on your maps and I assume Grey Wardens from other countries."

"Teyrn Loghain made it abundantly clear that should we try for aide from Orlais we would get a thorough slaughtering." Lucien snorted. "I don't blame him, I remember hiding under the floorboards in my house, only two years old when Orlesians were banging at the door."

"The Planasene clans... the country north of Ferelden. They have no war with us?" Thorvald suggested.

"The Free Marches. That makes a lot of sense. I knew I was scrambling when I found out I was the most senior Warden alive, my entire order being myself and four juniors." Asgrim barked. "And a mabari."

"So we go to all these places. Get our help then what? Just kill the Archdemon?" Alistair pursed his lips. "It can't be that easy."

"It most likely will not be." Dyrfinna answered him.

* * *

They spoke of the battle properly after that, trying to scrutinize what had gone wrong. As it turned out, the shaman had fled the field when they saw the Grey Wardens falling, many of the smaller troops, including the one that contained Carver's sister had fled. It had been deserters and being overwhelmed. What people left had fought until they could continue, Lucien had been so overworked his face was lined in worry, black rings encircling his sky blue eyes.

News had also reached them from a lone warrior of civil war in the north of the country. It seemed as if everything were falling apart in Ferelden.

The five Grey Wardens and the black mabari were in the encampment, grabbing whatever supplies they could as the remaining army was scrabbling. The Grey Wardens were greeted by the elf Pick, flustered and pink in the face.

"Grey Wardens! The Teyrn has taken ill! He is grey... and sweating... and we think he's going to die!" The elf stood shaking.

"The Teyrn was tainted?" Lucien slapped a palm over his face. "I healed him personally. Of course that stubborn bugger would try to hide this sort of thing. Warden Carver - ready our chalice, I will gather what supplies I need for the Joining. Wardens Thorvald and Dyrfinna, I need you to get a tent cleared of people. Warden Alistair, I need you to... er - stay here."


	6. Blacksmiths Still Need Coin

Author note: Big thank you to every single person reading and reviewing on this story of mine. I can say for every 10 views I've had - I have a review. So hopefully I'm doing something right! That or I'm secretly using blood magic to make you review!

The AUs keep happening though so please keep me informed of how I'm doing. AUs are rolling things, one thing affects another. These plans I have on my sticky notes are all squished up and barely legible. Oops?

* * *

The mood in the hastily erected tent was solemn, the outcome of Ostagar had mainly been death, not tainting of people and the few that had been tainted had not survived the Joining Ritual. Lucien was wiping his forehead, carefully measuring out the darkspawn blood, some blue powder and something black and viscous. Worry etched his entire posture and actions, causing all of them to feel the strain.

A white glowing spell was muttered as the reagents fizzed and the dragon warrior was brought into the tent by an elven servant, Pick, who left quickly afterwards. "I told them I'm Blighted well fine." He harrumphed in greeting, standing in the centre of the tent. But even Dyrfinna recognised the ashen grey pallor his skin had taken, the way one of the veins at his temple was a dark grey and looked to throb.

She could feel the blackness, the broiling disgust and heat in the presence, like darkspawn. There was no mistake - Loghain Mac Tir was tainted. "You have the same affliction I was cursed with. I am sorry dragon warrior." Dyrfinna bowed her head, closing her eyes.

"Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, we Grey Wardens have stood on the precipice of the Blights since the first Archdemon rose up to destroy Thedas. Now at the precipice of the Fifth Blight of Archdemon Urthermiel we now ask you to take the oath that cannot be forsworn, cutting all ties to nobility, past mistakes, crimes and anything else." Lucien held the chalice shakily, his voice almost breaking. "I'm so very sorry."

"What are you on about?" The dragon warrior furrowed his brow, his thin lips pinched in confusion. "You're not making me a Grey Warden in exchange for the cure. Just heal me."

"This is the cure... unfortunately." Dyrfinna said gently.

Loghain looked at the chalice and scowled, the thought processes on his face warring it out. "I'll hold you all here accountable for my death." He said as he took the chalice, swallowing the lot in one quick gulp and passing the silver vessel back to Lucien. "Ack - that's-"

He was cut off as he sunk down to his knees. Dyrfinna fought the urge to rush forward as Loghain started to shake, the taint coursing into his veins. The feeling of blackness gave way to another, this one warm, almost comforting like the presences of the four other Grey Wardens. "If he died how would he hold us accountable?" Warden Carver questioned. None answered as the warrior jolted still, his eyes opening to blank white before he collapsed into a heap of his heavy metallic armour.

That was when Dyrfinna rushed forward, putting her index and middle fingers to the shorn neck. "He carries a pulse."

"Well thank the Maker for that." Lucien wiped a hand up his face, raking his long hair with shaking fingers. "Or Korth. I forget we're not all Andrastian here."

"You are forgiven lowlander." Thorvald smirked.

* * *

When Loghain awoke he had questions. Questions that got answered quickly by the new Warden Commander. Like - what was the dragon that he saw, did he _have_ to have drunk darkspawn blood. Just how exactly did that cure him and more, probing into the secrets that only Lucien seemed to know the answers to.

Lucien finished it off with a - "You're also no-longer a Teyrn. We cut all ties to our past lives to become as we are, which is why I can run around and do magic without templars gutting me. We don't get involved with politics - or we're not supposed to, it's a bit different during a Blight because of our need for troops."

"Hmph." Loghain grunted. "This happen often to get your numbers up?"

"The darkspawn kill - if someone is tainted they are worthy to join because they managed to get away from the darkspawn alive." Lucien answered. "Well today has been wonderful. Now what's going to happen? Can I get a big steak just to fall out of the sky fully cooked into my hands? I go from four Wardens to seven, and one of them is Loghain Mac Tir!"

"I think the shaman is cracking under the pressure he feels." Thorvald muttered as all the junior Wardens filed out of the tent.

"I agree. We should keep an eye on the lowlander." Dyrfinna nodded.

* * *

News circulated quickly around the army as they started the march away from Ostagar. It had been a terrible choice in fortress against the darkspawn, dilapidated. But the gossip mill was that Teyrn Loghain was a Grey Warden.

"-Heard that they were important so signed right up I heard-"

"-Well after those losses. And with a mage as their leader, only sensible-"

"-Bet you the Chantry ain't gonna like it-"

"-Between that mage, the Teyrn and those barbarians, they wouldn't be big fans of the Chantry though, they'll tell the old biddies to shove it where the sun don't shine-"

"-So what's gonna happen about the throne? It ain't gonna just sit there empty-"

"-Figure we'll have a dowager Queen won't we? That's the way it works, specially if Cailan had her up the duff-"

"I hate rumours." Loghain sighed, keeping his pace next to Dyrfinna and Thorvald, Alistair and Carver ahead them with Lucien at the front with Morrigan walking proudly next to him.

"What is a dowager? And why would the 'chant tree' not like Lucien leading? This was never explained to me properly." Dyrfinna questioned. She could trust the dragon warrior to answer her plainly, he'd done so before.

He snorted softly in amusement, blinking slowly. "Which question would you like answered first?"

"The question on the shaman. I do not understand why shaman are not respected. The 'old biddy' was hostile to the bald shaman and-"

"You're worse than a child with these questions." Loghain grimaced. "It's the way things are. I always thought they're Ferelden's best weapon if we let them actually use their powers. But what would I know? They scuppered the first sight of blood. Least they lit the charge."

"But the Avvar have free shaman." Thorvald posed. "Our society is older than modern Thedas."

"Then it's the Chantry seeking to control with fear. All enemies try it, I've even tried it - although not to cow people into oppression." The dragon warrior looked around him. "I've done a lot of terrible things but oppression was never on my list of things to do."

"I have ears!" Lucien shouted. "Glad to hear it Warden Loghain!"

"He's getting cheerier as the day progresses." Loghain commented.

"Commander Lucien is cracking from pressure. It is our hopes that he does not break." Dyrfinna sighed, Thorvald hmm'ing in agreement before Asgrim waggled through their small group, cheery because his new mistress had been returned to him. Asgrim licked Lucien's hand and the shaman cooed, rubbing his ears affectionately.

* * *

They set up camp away from the main army on their journey toward this lowlander village. Loghain had been a great help in setting up the canvas housing with them. "You'd think after twelve years in the Wardens I could set a tent properly." Lucien grumbled, sitting by the campfire as Dyrfinna was ladling the stew out. It was not Avvar fare due to the lack of proper herbs and mead. But it was something reminiscent of home.

"A long time to be an enemy of the darkspawn." Thorvald mused aloud.

"How long have you Avvar been enemies to the Tevinters?" Lucien smirked back knowingly.

"Tevinters are vile creatures, delving into the forbidden magic and despicable barbaric ends. It was the strength of the Avvar that drove their tainted nature back to Minrathous, you should be grateful you are not enslaved to them or forced to become as they." Thorvald responded, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh I'm glad I'm not a slave, but because the rest of Thedas viewed it as an attack on mages rather than on Tevinters people like me get stuck in circles. Loghain said you wanted an explanation on it. Well let me level with you. As I'm sure you both are aware, us lowlanders are followers of the Maker and His bride Andraste."

"What?" Dyrfinna passed him a bowl of the stew with a quizzical crease between her brows.

"Oh. We believe Andraste was the spiritual bride of the Maker." Lucien shrugged.

"Lowlanders are strange." Thorvald smirked between bites of the rabbit stew.

"Anyway." Lucien smiled as he swallowed his first spoonful of the meal. "Wow. You can cook, not that I'll be sexist and make the only woman in the order get stuck on cooking duty but at least we won't starve. I can't cook for love nor money, neither can Alistair. I have no idea about Carver, you Thorvald or Loghain. I suppose Morrigan might be able but it hardly seems fair when we're looking after her." He hastily started shovelling his meal into his mouth. "But I was explaining... right. So the Maker and Andraste. You know the magic must serve man gambit so I shan't repeat it. Well it wasn't viewed like you Avvar do. They seemed to think it was permission from the Maker Himself to shove everyone with the barest magical talent into towers, gilded prisons as it is - called circles."

"The slavery of the Tevinters continues under a different name." Dyrfinna growled.

"It's so nice to have someone understand that. So I manifested my powers, got shoved into the tower when my family found out. A lot of people get used to it, almost brainwashed into thinking they deserve to be locked up for being born." Lucien scraped the last of his stew out of his bowl. "I never did, escaped the record number of five times by the age of fourteen. Which was two years by the way."

"Your tent is set up... Commander." Loghain sat at the campfire, his pause ending in a huff of breath. "I was listening though, do continue."

"Ah yes. Anyway, I thought I'd escaped for good, hooked up with the Mages Collective in Denerim. Then when as a starving apostate of twenty I was finally found out. Dragged through the streets by three templars, each one of them a huge slavering idiot. Duncan saw and conscripted me on the spot. I took my Joining a week later when my wounds had been given a bit of care and some food in my belly."

"Duncan was a good man." Alistair piped up, looking up from his empty bowl.

"You haven't spoken much since Ostagar." Dyrfinna said in a soft voice. "For a lowlander to save the life of an Avvar, even if it was to make me a Grey Warden is seen as a good act. Not many lowlanders have such good values to saving life."

"Can't say anything either way about the man." The dragon warrior glanced over to Alistair briefly. "But truer words were never spoken milady." Loghain rumbled. Dyrfinna and Thorvald burst into laughter.

"How was that funny?" Alistair snapped.

"I have no idea. I've never had a sense of humour that could be detected, even Maric said as much." Loghain answered, glancing cautiously at the two laughing Avvar.

"You called me milady!" Dyrfinna snorted, calming herself. "Such an expression!"

Loghain looked faintly amused but both Alistair and Lucien looked more confused. "Even a warrior can be a lady." Lucien pursed his lips.

"What's going on here?" Carver approached the campfire, having been speaking to Morrigan in her excluded part of the camp for a while.

"The barbarians think it funny that the Teyrn called Fin a lady." Alistair answered him, his tone perplexed.

"Oh..." She growled a little. "Do not shorten my name." Dyrfinna stopped her laughing. "And if you must the proper shortening is Dyr, not Fin."

* * *

They reached Lothering just short of midday on the second day of travelling, the main army having already passed through the village. It was a sea of canvas and cooking fires, charring meats, sweat and desperation.

"Didn't you say your family was here Warden Carver?" Lucien asked the warrior.

"Oh... yeah. I guess I should warn them, tell them to head out of the path of the horde." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the poorly made houses as if looking for a specific one. It had been no secret his older sister had been part of the troops that had deserted, amongst those - the golden-clad King's personal guardsmen.

"And we should get you some proper armour until we can get to the Warden Compound in Denerim." Lucien added. "If I had coin of course. Anyone else have money or are we beggar Grey Wardens now?"

"Is there not a blacksmith for the Grey Wardens?" Dyrfinna asked. "They could make the appropriate armour."

"Blacksmiths still need coin." Lucien replied with a sigh.

"I do not follow..." She furrowed her brow before Thorvald stepped in.

"The settled clans have no need for coin. They are self sufficient." He explained. "Trade within the clan is a market of skills and items, re-thatching a roof in exchange for candles, a blanket in exchange for milk. Obviously more milk for the blanket than say two candles would give. The fact is - Dyrfinna has never bought or sold with coin."

"Idyllic." Loghain snorted. "No wonder you seem so confused about the world away from your people."

"Do not treat me as a woman-child." She snapped. "I will pick up this 'coin'. How does it work?"

"I shall help here. Every increment of coin is in hundred base. Copper is worth less than silver and gold more than that. One hundred copper is one silver worth, one hundred silver is one gold worth." Thorvald put his great wiry muscular arms to her shoulders, levelling his murky brown eyes into her honey coloured ones. "A pint of mead is two coppers in most of the taverns that the Odelia found."

"So should someone ask me for say... ten coppers I should value the item I trade this coin for as five pints of mead or the work or items I would trade for that?" Dyrfinna pursed her lips, understanding dawning on her. "Thank you brother. This makes sense to me now."

"You just explained coin that quickly?" Lucien's eyebrows rose incredulously. "Wow. I was thinking of some sort of game and trying to... you're more intelligent than you let on."

"What did you expect?" Thorvald smirked. "That I am no more than a wilder that wanders for quarry to kill and grunts?"

"That's the general view of anyone not of the populace." Morrigan sniffled. "Tis a view thought of by many of outsiders in their narrow minded world."

"I think we should move on. No doubt the army has warned those here..." Loghain looked over them all. "But they aren't moving quick enough."

They continued up the white marble highway, passing more groupings of the tents until a group of leather clad men stopped them, barring the route forward.

"Well lookie here! A group lead by a man in a dress!" The man standing in point spoke, his whole posture amused despite the hostility threaded in it. "Ten silvers to get past."

"They's don't look like the others." One of the men behind grunted. "We could just let them past."

"Nonsense, the toll is ten silvers, no matter who passes." The 'leader' muttered in retort.

"Highway men." Alistair growled. Dyrfinna rolled her eyes, even with her limited understanding of coin she knew these lowlanders were criminals.

The dragon warrior put a hand out and parted the other Wardens, standing in front of them all and crossing his arms. "Well? Are you going to move?"

"Maker's blood! Teyrn Loghain! We were... we were just moving - yes. Moving." The leader quickly cowered, pulling his men back.

"More people passed through here. You took their coin or killed them." Dyrfinna stated as they were walking toward them, eyeing the dried blood on their weapons.

"Oh - yes. Er..." He reached to a pouch on his belt, yanking it off from it's tentative knots and almost chucking it at her before she caught it. "There's a hundred silvers more or less there. Just take it. We don't want no trouble yeah?"

"Get moving. Away from here. No more thieving." Carver growled at them.

The highway men lowlanders actually ran - right away, straight past them toward Ostagar. "Blighted fools." Loghain muttered.

"We could have overpowered them quite easily." Morrigan snorted. "Twas useless for them to run like the fools they are."

"And I happen to know there's plenty of templars in Lothering Morrigan. Using magic would be a bad idea around them, I might be a Grey Warden but you aren't." Lucien rolled his eyes, as if it were obvious.

They walked further down the highway, exiting on a sloping rank to the dusty mud flecked grass, passing more desperate refugees. "Lothering, pretty as a painting." Alistair drawled.

"Oh! He is capable of speech! And here I thought the blond fool was still contemplating falling 'pon his sword in depression!" Morrigan laughed.

"Is my grief too much for you to understand?" Alistair snapped back to the shaman. "I bet you've never had a friend in your life."

"Alas, the endeavour to remain intelligent has rendered me without such fickle friendships that you would render me." Morrigan sighed in mock sadness.

"Must you both tear each other into pieces?" Thorvald groaned. "A clan must be united, must all work as one for the good of all."

"T'would be your task to make the templar fool to understand that death happens then." Morrigan drawled back. There was a collective slapping of hands to foreheads.

"It never makes it easier." Loghain growled. "He will mourn in his way, wake up one morning and find his life continues. Now move your marsh born arse to beside Lucien. We're not having your comments all the way behind us."

Morrigan harrumphed but nevertheless complied. "Thank you." Alistair muttered.

"No problem lad. If we have to put up with her she isn't going to demoralise one of us. All in the same tainted boat now."

* * *

Dyrfinna kept silent, watching the lowlanders moving about their business as if the darkspawn were not approaching. It was disheartening that even the word of losses at the Tevinter fortress could not move these people.

"My family lives..." Carver pointed over to a barely paved, possibly cobbled lane - although it was too dirty to see really. "Those are templars!"

"Hold lad. They're not the brightest and we have an apostate ourselves." Loghain put his hand out to still the younger warrior. But Carver growled when they started knocking on a particular door, an elder woman answering the door flanked by the archer Dyrfinna has briefly seen at Ostagar.

The men in bright leather skirts barged into the house, pulling a girl roughly the same as as her fellow Warden out by her wrists. "That's my Blighted sister!"

"Let me handle this. Wardens Loghain and Alistair - stay with Carver. Dyrfinna and Thorvald - with me. You get to see templars up close and you both look pretty intimdating. Just in case." Lucien started to stride with purpose to the scene. It sickened Dyrfinna that people were either watching nonchalant or simply walking past the blatant abuse as if it wasn't any concern of theirs. If this happened with one of the clan... the attackers would not find their lives long.

"Good afternoon Sers!" The Commander was rigid backed in the face of the helmeted and skirted lowlanders, his gaiety false. "Good day for apostate hunting isn't it?"

"Move on." One of them sounded within his helmet.

"I happen to be a mage too. But I'm also Commander Lucien of the Grey Wardens. I think you should know the drill. I hereby conscript the lady you're dragging into my order, yada yada yada. Hand her over." He smiled widely, flashing a set of stained teeth in triumph.

"How'd we know you're a Grey Warden? They all died in Ostagar." The other lowlander questioned petulantly.

"Ha! I could go ask Teyrn Loghain... you know - the imposing man over there with the rest of my order if I'm correct in my status as a Grey Warden."

* * *

And it worked. The shaman girl was introduced as Bethany Hawke, tearfully left her family and joined them. Apparently with a question. "Am I really going to be a Grey Warden?" The girl asked hesitantly, sniffing.

"Any apostate with skill enough to go free for... how old are you? Twenty?" Lucien smiled.

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen years is skilled enough and will get more powerful against the darkspawn." Lucien took a deep breath in. "Smell that? It's freedom from ever having a templar look funny at you again. You'll get used to the darkspawn."

"They're little more than animals with swords." Dyrfinna added. "You will also find that the most of us are very happy to have one of the shaman amongst us."

* * *

Warden Carver was not happy they Lucien had conscripted his sister. Lucien got a blackened eye to show for this unhappiness, which Loghain reprimanded the man-child about. "You don't have to agree with what a Commander does but you follow their orders." Being the reason.

Lucien had laughed the incident off, healing his bruise easily. "All brothers and sisters if they share both mother and father survive becoming as us. Don't worry boy, I didn't conscript her so she could die." He clapped the warrior on the back comfortingly. "So no need to panic."

"He could have explained that earlier." Carver harrumphed. Moving to be beside Alistair.

"Right Wardens!" Lucien turned around suddenly. "Lothering is a mess of refugees, criminals and templars. I want to be out of here as soon as possible. We're going to use those hundred silvers Dyrfinna kindly got for us, we need proper tents, camp equipment like a shovel for latrines." He pursed his lips. "Then... stuff for looking after armour and weapons."

"But this coin..." Dyrfinna held the leather pouch, weighing it. "It is five thousand pints of mead worth... surely not much will be needed. It looks so, intriguing, the stamped faces are well crafted."

"I think we need to explain coin better." Lucien rubbed a spot of tension between his brows. "Not everything has a uniform value, say the value of a... shovel, we need one and it would be worth the same as..."

"A box of plain, non-scented beeswax candles." Thorvald offered.

"Right. But the coin value for each could be completely different." Lucien smiled indulgently.

"Then I give this coin to the dragon warrior. I will not understand it." She twisted her lips into a frown, handing the pouch to Loghain.

"Your trust is sorely placed." Loghain snorted. "I've lived in a world with coin and I can't haggle for toffee."

"Let me handle it then." Lucien sighed. He took the leather pouch and started counting silver discs into one hand. "Warden Alistair, your stipend for the month, get what supplies you need." He repeated the gesture over and over until they were each given five silver coins. "I will get the main supplies, tents and stuff so don't worry. Be back right here by... one hour. I trust each of you can be back that quickly? Bethany, Carver and Morrigan can walk with me, the rest of you stick together."

* * *

The group Dyrfinna found herself in was wandering in the 'market'. There were many shoddily made pieces of jewellery for to buy with this coin. She could tell, being the wife of a blacksmith meant some understanding of quality in metal and leather work.

She picked up an old looking map of the Frostback Mountains, glancing at the fine work the cartographer had made of the peaks and different heights to each mountain. It was quite amusing to see that the Avvar Holdings were not marked in any way. The shaman were good with their warding magic, that much was certain.

She slapped the heel of her palm on her forehead. Of course! Duncan _did_ know an Avvar, this Kell Ar Morgan or how else would he have found their Hold? "Eh - hands off what you can't afford." Dyrfinna snapped her eyes up to the voice.

"I have coin." She answered him. "What is the... price?"

"Fifty coppers." The man answered quickly. Suddenly a hand was on her shoulder.

"Don't." It was the dragon warrior. "It's five coppers at best."

The 'salesman' scowled briefly. "Ten."

"I do not want the map if you wish to thieve coin." Dyrfinna placed the map back onto the stall, following Loghain as he walked away. "I would not have paid the lowlander that amount of coin. It was a fine map but not worth that much. Even I could figure as such." She crossed her arms as they walked.

"People take advantage in desperate situations." Loghain responded, glancing briefly back at the stall.

"I knew as much. Lowlanders have little honour." She sighed. "I have a question. If I may..."

"Oh go ahead, poke and prod until you're satisfied. I know what hero worship looks like and you do have that glint in your eyes every so often." Dyrfinna crossed her arms and faced him.

"You have the strength of Korth in the ballads. Yet you hid the fact you were tainted until almost the last possible moment. Why?" She levelled her gaze with his, despite his being taller than even the ballads mention.

"Old dragons tend to fly off on their own if they know their time is coming do they not?" He answered dryly.

* * *

The boy was thin, too thin for a child of his height, his hair greasy and his nose running. The copper locks were pushed out of his streaming eyes by the Avvar woman, a surge of her maternal instincts arising.

"Why do you cry?" Dyrfinna cooed, squatting to his height and cupping the child's face in her hand.

His bottom lip trembled but there was no fear for a child of strangers, even tattooed Avvar women. "My mother and father are gone!" He scrunched his face up, trying to will more tears to his eyes.

"Where did you last see your mother? Perhaps I could return you to her skirts?" She said softly, wiping the pad of her thumb under his eye.

"Some bad men came and did mean things... Father went after them three days ago."

"And they left you on your own?" Alistair asked incredulously behind her. Loghain crouched next to her.

"You need to be strong." He spoke, some inner turmoil on his features. "If your father doesn't return by tomorrow morn I want you to head to the Chantry and leave when they do."

The boy stared at the dragon warrior, his face lighting up. "I know who you are! You're Teyrn Loghain!"

"That I am lad."

"I'll... I'll do that Ser." The boy wiped a hand under his snotty nose. Dyrfinna stood and watched as Loghain passed the boy a silver, watching with him as the boy toddled off to a great building that had a sunburst marking heralded above it in wood.

"He can't be older than my own son." She breathed finally. "His parents are dead are they not?"

"Most likely." Loghain answered her. "A common sight unfortunately. He'll be the one that suffers though. Poor mite."

"Those people should look after him..." She trailed off.

"They should." He assured her.

"That was really nice of you." Alistair smiled. Dyrfinna tilted her head, looking at the young blond warrior.

"Do you have children of your own Alistair?"

"Maker! No..." He exclaimed. "I still find it weird that you do!"

"Then you are the only one of our group who has not." Thorvald snorted. "It is obvious the dragon warrior is a father, I was a father, Dyrfinna is a mother."

"You _were_ a father?" Alistair questioned.

"My sons were killed by lowlanders, when your 'chant tree' attacked our clan for having free shaman. I am the last of the Odelia clan now. Death is something that happens though, babes are quick to return to the Lady of the Skies when food is scarce in winter, child bearing takes many women, sickness and battle take whatever are left. Old age is something many do not get in Avvar life, only the strongest of warriors and those blessed by Imhar with His luck." Thorvald took a deep breath in, snorting it slowly out of his nose. "I have mourned and respected their memory."

"I'm... I'm so sorry." Alistair bowed his head. "Here I am moping about Duncan and I forgot completely that other people would be... I'm sorry."

"Grief makes us all damned idiots in hindsight lad." Loghain nodded. "It doesn't make you less human to have emotions, just don't let them get in the way of things."

* * *

They met back with Lucien's little group only slightly lighter for coin. Alistair might have bought an entire wheel of cheese and was hiding it on his back under his shield as Asgrim eyed it closely, licking his chops.

Thorvald had perused the selection of inks and vellum, selecting a blank leather bound book as well as charcoals, inks and writing implements.

Dyrfinna had settled on a set of metallic needles and strong thread. It would do well for them to be able to repair their equipment should it get damaged. It was in a fine leather casing that had a wooden toggle to hold it closed. Very sturdy.

Loghain has returned to the map and had bought it. Dyrfinna smiled and pointed out the area Phoenix Hold was on the aged vellum. Loghain marked it neatly onto the map with a cross.

Lucien had a mule, packed with their tents as well as newer supplies bought - including that shovel. An unknown woman stood near Warden Carver, looking anxious.

"Ah, Warden Loghain. You're looking to be in a good mood." Lucien greeted them. "That's good. I did some recruiting..."

Dyrfinna looked at the woman that Lucien was gesturing to. Tall, bright red hair that flicked at her jawline, eyes like shimmering water. An archer from the sight of it, leathers over her angular form. "And? You're the commander." Loghain stated.

"This is sister Leliana of the Lothering Chantry." Lucien introduced the woman.

"Is she skilled?" Loghain asked.

"She helped us collect a bounty on some bandits." Carver shrugged. "Didn't expect a Chantry sister to be a crack shot with a bow but things keep surprising me recently."

"Thank you Carver." The woman smiled. Loghain immediately stiffened his posture, glaring heatedly at both the woman and Lucien.

"You sought to recruit an Orlesian?" He growled. "I should have known."

"I am not Orlesian! I am Ferelden!" The woman chimed.

"You do sound Orlesian." Lucien took a deep breath in. "I know you hate them Loghain. But-"

"Hate doesn't describe it, I saw painted masked lords beat an old farmer to death with riding crops." He gestured at the woman. "To this day I don't know why, is that hate? I saw good sensible men fighting armoured chevaliers with nothing! No weapon, no armies, not even hope of success to see the occupation end, is that hate?"

"This woman is one of the painted lowlanders." Dyrfinna stated.

"Yes... Orlesian." Loghain closed his eyes, his anger jolted by the break in the flow of his argument. "And you intend to make her a Grey Warden. Wonderful."

"I actually sought your opinion first." Lucien answered the dragon warrior flippantly. "The girl is as mad as a hatter, claims the Maker spoke to her - just came up to us when she heard from the templars that Grey Wardens were in Lothering and asked to join us. A dab hand with a bow like Warden Carver said and I think I saw a set of lockpicks on her belt earlier. But if this is going to cause a problem Loghain I can easily send her away."

"I would prefer it." Loghain grumbled. "But it's your decision."

"Excellent. I'm not running off and grabbing chevaliers, it's one mad Chantry sister with a brilliant aim and she did claim to be Ferelden born." Lucien rubbed his hands together. "So daylight's burning, let's be on our way. I feel more confident say the day progresses."

"The shaman is cracking under more pressure." Thorvald muttered.

* * *

End of chapter note: There's a reason I recruited Leliana and Bethany into the Wardens but not Morrigan. Obviously the Dark Ritual (should it be accepted) - but Lucien and group would be fairly grateful to Flemeth for giving them two more bodies in their fight against the Blight. She asked them to look after Morrigan, not make her a warden (and killing the daughter of an ancient witch doesn't sound like a nice plan). Just an explanation on my motives here.

Also, Sten and Shale will not be in this fic. While I have managed to make Sten work for me as a character he's not going to fit in with the Wardens I have. As for Shale - I can't write Shale. I make no secret of it.


	7. Scowling Wardens

Author note: So my muse likes me at the moment. I hope she keeps it up. Anyway - every reader and reviewer deserves wine and ice-cream. In whatever order they wish it, with foot rubs.

And if I get enough people wanting Shale... I MIGHT bring her in post-Origins. That's a HUGE might. Sten - nu-uh. He's going to grate on too many of the personalities here.

Big Loghain scene but it was called for. Dyrfinna insisted.

* * *

Of course the route out of the lowlander village had not been uneventful. A scouting group of darkspawn were dispatched quickly with their three strong shaman, there was almost no point to drawing weaponry as Thorvald and this painted lowlander Leliana shot down the stragglers with their arrows.

"There is skill in your aim. But you would do well to aim for the vulnerable necks and eyes of the darkspawn." Thorvald spoke to Leliana. "The darkspawn will not hesitate to kill in one shot, there is no need to cripple."

"I shall keep that in mind." The painted lowlander replied, voice even as the two archers retrieved their arrows.

"Just keeping the Wardens from wasting their resources." Thorvald snorted. "Who has an empty flask?"

"Here." Alistair tipped the last of his water out of his flask and presented it to the Avvar archer. Thorvald was quick in piercing the neck of one of the darkspawn and siphoning blood from the creature into the hipflask.

"That was mighty good timing!" The group turned from the corpses of the darkspawn to see two of the dwarven folk, one young, wide eyed and twisting his fingers together, the other older, tired eyes and plaited gingery blond beard.

"Luck of Imhar." Dyrfinna shrugged before bowing her head. "But the Avvar greet you dwarves."

"I'm lost, I know that thing about Luthias Dwarfson by wouldn't there be some sort of... you know animosity between the Avvar and the dwarves?" Alistair asked.

"Oh no!" The elder of the dwarves shook his head. "Been a while since I've seen any Ash Warriors in action though. Heartening to see dwarven fighting techniques."

"I'm confused." Alistair pursed his lips, his brow furrowing down.

"We shall explain when we set camp." Thorvald assured the blond Warden.

"I know this might be presumptuous but I'm only a merchant see, and there can't be a better place for us to camp during this Blight that with your lot-"

"The Grey Wardens get in many dangerous situations." Lucien took over. "It would be, unwise to set camp with us."

"Ah! Say no more, Bodahn Feddic knows when to say thanks and keep moving on." The elder dwarf put his hands up in surrender. He turned from them and started picking at the broken wheel of his wagon.

"Come on. We're moving on from Lothering now and we have a lot of things to do." Lucien chivvied the group.

* * *

It had been a tiring day of walking to reach a suitable place to set camp. Dyrfinna unfurled her bedroll off the mule (named 'Greagoir' after someone Lucien had known when he had been in this tower of his), slumping unceremoniously upon the padded blanket of sorts. It was warm and the weather fair, no need for a tent.

The decision had been in poor taste though as her clan dagger poked into her thigh before she started to take her weapons and shield off. "So we need a watch rotation." Lucien called. "I propo-"

"You don't have warding magics?" Thorvald cut him off. "Dyrfinna, would it be in our best interests to teach the lowlander shaman t-"

"How could a mundane teach magic?" Lucien cut the Avvar archer off.

Dyrfinna rolled her eyes and beckoned Asgrim to her, stroking his bristly black fur idly. "Clap your hands three times then wipe your right wrist with your left hand, reverse that, left wrist with right hand. The words to chant are 'Deild okkur frá hættu, líkklæði okkar frá augum'." She drawled. "There. That means we will not need watch."

"Oh..." Lucien pursed his lips into a pucker at the side of his face. "You're going to have to repeat that. And we need to put two recruits to the Joining Ritual. Dyr, with me. You can repeat it while I master this spell of the Avvar."

* * *

Loghain and Carver ended up setting all the tents by themselves, Alistair dug the latrine, Dyrfinna and Thorvald taught the three shaman the warding spell.

The painted lowlander and the shaman of the Wilds were busied with cooking with Bethany when Lucien called Leliana and Bethany into his tent, leaving the wilder shaman with the rabbit and onion stew they were concocting.

The Grey Wardens stood in their plain clothes, mainly the bottom halves of their armour or leathers, tunics and blouses on top.

"Alright. Here we go, another Joining Ritual. Alistair, if you would, seeing as you're the most senior of the Wardens I have left." Lucien held the chalice in his hands, the bags under his illuminated by the flickering candles within the canvas room.

Alistair bowed his head and spoke the words, solemnity chilling the air. "Bethany Hawke, step forward." Lucien sounded as the blond Warden finished. Carver glared openly at Lucien, unbelieving of his assurances before on the survivability of his sister.

"Don't worry lad. You won't be the only one unhappy about this Joining." Loghain muttered.

Bethany stepped forward hesitantly, taking the chalice. "Maker give me strength." She whispered, tipping the silver to her lips and taking a swallow. She forced her mouth closed and doubled over. Lucien quickly grabbed the chalice from her.

Bethany fell to her knees, gasping for breath, her shoulders shaking and her eyes opening to the blank white before she collapsed to the mud. "You had better pray mage." Carver growled, kneeling down and picking the floppy body of his sister into his arms. He carefully put two fingers under her chin. "You're lucky mage."

"I told you the truth, you could have believed me." Lucien narrowed his eyes. "Leliana Larochelle, step forward."

Loghain harrumphed. "Not Orlesian eh?"

"I will pretend I did not hear that." The painted lowlander muttered in aside. She focused on the chalice in Lucien's hands, closing her eyes as she took it from his grasp. "May the Maker watch over me." She drank back without fear, her face twisting into a grimace. "Ah merde that is-"

Then the painted lowlander fell straight to the floor, convulsing. "Dead?" Loghain asked. The woman took in a deep gasping breath, her eyes opening wide and white before she flopped back down.

Lucien knelt down carefully and put a hand under her chin. "I'm sorry Loghain. The taint didn't kill her. Leliana is now a Grey Warden."

Loghain looked down at the painted lowlander and huffed. "I'll be outside." He picked up Thorvald's bow and quiver of arrows, walking out. Dyrfinna took a deep breath in.

"May I borrow hers?" She asked, pointedly staring at Leliana's bow.

"Go ahead, it should be a simple Q and A." Lucien sighed. Dyrfinna nodded and picked up the bow and quiver of arrows. Chasing after the dragon warrior.

* * *

Dyrfinna found Loghain up a tree of all places, the bow poised at a pigeon. She carefully swung herself up and quietly sat in the branch on the opposite side of the tree.

"Did you wish to talk?" She asked in her lowest whisper. Loghain let loose the arrow, missing by mere inches, the pigeon flying off.

"Damn." He cursed. "What do you want? I happen to be blowing off steam and don't generally have an audience when I do."

"I would feel the same should a Tevinter be inducted into our order." She sighed, getting as straight to the point as he would with her. "I understand why you hate."

"Do you?" He growled.

"The Avvar are surprisingly peaceful people. I had been thinking on the old ballads and this tale came to me. Let me explain..."

Dyrfinna took in a deep breath. "It was before the time of your Chantry, after the schism of clans that lead to the Avvar and Chasind separating from the Alamarri clans. The Tevinters entered the dreamworld and cursed the name of Korth, they attempted to bring the Lady of the Skies to fall and dispose of Sigfrost. Only Imhar and Uvolla were left sacred, Imhar for His cunning and Uvolla shrouded Herself in her forests. Doing so caused the Tevinters to get to be plagued, Imhar removing their intelligence and Uvolla everything natural about them."

She glanced down at the leaf littered floor. "This plague caused them to cower in the dwarven kingdoms, spreading it to them and creating the first darkspawn. Their own Gods saw their true natures and sought to control these darkspawn, causing the first Blight."

"Different from the Chantry version but do continue." Loghain rumbled.

"The Avvar clans united under the Thane Maferath and his third wife, the shaman Andraste An Brona, but it was Andraste that was the charismatic leader of the Avvar. They blamed the Tevinters for the Blight and the ensuing silence of Korth for the failed protection of the Avvar. They conquered the Tevinters relentlessly. Maferath grew jealous and sought to collude with the Tevinters, gaining all the land conquered as his own. Archon Hessarian captured Andraste and burnt her upon the stake alive, barring her from returning to the Lady of the Skies. Upon learning of the betrayal of Maferath the Avvar turned on him, his own sons slaying their fathers. But were it not for the Tevinters seeking to usurp our Gods none of this would have happened."

Dyrfinna pursed her lips. "The meaning of the ballad is that the Avvar turned on their own, the Tevinters took back a lot of the lands we had conquered and we became nomadic of the Frostback Mountains, some clans such as my own settling in one place. The Tevinters continued to pillage clans, burning people alive in their homes, gutting children and even animals alike. Taking any survivors as slaves. So much of our culture lost. We keep our ballads close, our Gods appeased and our people safe."

"The whole of your people hate the Tevinters." Loghain finally spoke.

"Their whole race is blasphemous, our war with them never over. It is bad luck to even contemplate treachery of our brothers." She closed her eyes.

"I feel the same about Orlesians. I'll tell you my own story, it's more personal to see if you can understand then." Loghain took in a deep breath, tiredly leaning into the trunk of the tree. "The Orlesians lorded over Ferelden, raping any and taxing as much as they felt like it. Their culture says that the nobility is chosen by the Maker so they can do what they like to everyone else, damn everything else. My father, Gareth of Oswin... he refused to pay the new taxes. The Orlesians came, tied myself and he down and raped my mother, making us both watch before they killed her."

"Þeir ættu deyja á bálit." Dyrfinna growled. Loghain arched an eyebrow. "Oh, it is an old saying, most of the Old Ferelden tongue was lost but it means 'They should die in on a pyre'."

"My sentiments are bloodier." He admitted with a feral growl in his throat. He cleared his throat before continuing. "My father left, coming back three days later, informing me that each who had committed the act had been dealt with. We left our freeholding, outlaws from then on. You know the story after that, seeing as you knew who I was when we met in Ostagar, I met Maric and we raised a rebellion, claiming Ferelden back as our own."

"My clan is close to the border with the ancestors of the Ciriane. These Orlesians. My mother once fought a battle with our clan in which she and one other warrior survived to the end. Most of our clan is not warriors, being shepherds, weavers and such. It changed my mother, made her distant. She only took one husband many years after, having myself before he died of an illness. She doted on me and my son, hoping that we would never have to face such hardships but training myself should the need arise."

"Sensible woman. Though Maric and I never heard of anyone else fighting with our cause that weren't directly affected." Loghain glanced at the Avvar woman sideways.

"I have a hatred of the Tevinters, it does not compare so much to personal hate such as yours, it is bred in our bones. I can never forgive the painted lowlanders for changing my mother, our Thane before she became Thane would tell of the battle she fought in, of the laughing warrior that was my mother before blood of our clansmen was bathed over her by the painted lowlanders." Dyrfinna pursed her lips. It was odd to speak so candidly with a lowlander, even one revered as this dragon warrior. But from the rumbling of his voice to the plain speaking her was comforting. "This talk however... has been enlightening to me. Thank you Loghain Mac Tir." She bowed her head and started down the tree.

"I suppose it has for me too." Loghain answered her when she landed on the ground, her tilted his head inquisitively and pointed to the quiver of arrows on her back with the bow slung over. "Can you actually shoot that thing?"

"The bow? No. I was taught to hunt with a spear, my closest friend Gunnhildr An Myrun could fight with both greatsword and hunt with a bow, a remarkable warrior." Dyrfinna shrugged, suddenly tired. It had been a trying day both mentally and physically with the walking and recovery from wounds sustained at Ostagar.

"Tomorrow we could go hunting. I could teach you."

"I would like that. Korth give you strength, Uvolla empathy and may Sigfrost give you knowledge Loghain, I suspect you shall need them to stand alongside one of the painted lowlanders." She bowed her head respectfully, walking back to the camp.

Loghain followed her down, quickly matching her pace as they wandered back to camp. The silence wrapping around the warriors like a comforting blanket.

"I was really going to try that call of yours." Alistair greeted them.

"Try it." Dyrfinna drawled, flopping down on her bedroll. Asgrim padded to her, his great head resting on her chest, a whine escaping his throat.

"Can't. Don't know how. Anyway, dinner was about an hour ago. It's cold now." Alistair gestured to the cooking pot.

"I do not think Loghain would eat it, considering the cook and in solidarity I shan't either." She closed her eyes, thinking of everything that was gone now.

Hakkon Wintersbreath temper her to this horrific feeling, her clan had never felt so far away, the whole of it only a brief stay before her duty would take her back to the Grey Wardens.

* * *

Dyrfinna awoke almost in a lake of sweat, gasping for air. The sun had only reached close to the horizon, staining the sky pale orange, the stripes of the clouds pink fading to almost silver. "Korth's throne what was that!"

She blinked blearily at the encampment, every other person awake. "Darkspawn dreams." Lucien replied with a grunt. "Horrid bastards even when you're awake but when you sleep? Ridiculous."

Thorvald got from his crossed legged position, shuffling over on his knees close. "Do not mind the shaman sister. He awoke the rest of the camp with his howling. The truth of the matter is that this is how the Grey Wardens know that this is a Blight, it is a power that allows us to tap into the hive mind of the darkspawn."

"I saw Urthermiel!" She near screamed. Blasted Tevinter Gods entering her head through the dreamworld.

"We all did." Alistair soothed, walking over to her bedroll and putting a hand to her shoulder. "It's worse during a Blight so the sooner we end this the sooner we can get a good night of sleep."

"Get off me lowlander." Dyrfinna growled. "It had my son between his jaws. Crushing his life away from him."

"Do you want some tea?" Lucien asked flippantly.

Dyrfinna flopped back down onto her wet bedroll, closing her eyes. "I should have died of the taint, amongst my clan and family."

"Don't go saying that, we're like a new clan for you." Alistair said jovially. She opened her eyes, quickly closing them again at the sight of a smile this early in the morning. "Anyway, Commander Lucien has a plan now he's been up and looking over the treaties."

"Do tell me it then." Dyrfinna muttered. "You will anyway."

"Good joke. No sense of humour you Avvar. We're headed to Orzammar first. The dwarves are long standing allies of the Grey Wardens, Thorvald here has been there before, as has Loghain. And Lucien. Then we'll swing down into the Frostbacks and start getting the Avvar on our side."

"I still think this civil war we heard news of should be dealt with forthwith." Loghain rumbled not too far in the distance. "A country divided won't stand a chance against the darkspawn."

"He sounds happy. Like someone declared a war and he knows exactly what to do." Alistair quipped. "Then someone spat in his porridge, shoved him in the auxiliary troops and kicked his puppy."

"Kicked my puppy?" Loghain's low voice rose in digination. "Are all Grey Wardens flippant in the mornings?"

"Dyr here is scowling, and Carver is. So no, you three can have a group called the Scowling Wardens, you can make badges." Alistair quipped right back.

"I will continue to scowl until my headache clears, breakfast is eaten and the Blight is ended. I never wish to see a darkspawn in the dreamworld again." Dyrfinna sat up threading her fingers roughly through her straw coloured hair before shuffling over to the pot and drawing two ladles of porridge, salting the milk and oat mixture.

* * *

It was if the mood of all the Wardens got worse the more they travelled together. Morrigan made snide comments to anyone who vaguely annoyed her, particularly to Carver, Bethany, Alistair and Leliana. The Hawke siblings were needled near constantly because their elder sister had quit the field at Ostagar, Bethany was a healer (and therefore 'no practical use should a darkspawn charge at her. What is she to do, heal it to death?'), Carver of course was a natural arguer. He had felt limited all his life because they had to keep their heads down to keep his shaman sister safe.

Morrigan and Alistair just hated each other, plain and simple, no rhyme or reason to it as far as Dyrfinna could see. Morrigan thought the blond Warden an idiot, Alistair thought Morrigan was 'evil'.

Then there was the case of the painted lowlander. She was a vocal 'Andrastian', these followers of Andraste An Brona and the Maker. She believed that the Maker spoke to her and that... shoes and hair were quite important. The painted lowlander had tried to explain the cuts of clothes to improve silhouette to both Morrigan and Dyrfinna before both the 'barbarians' had left the red-haired woman babbling to thin air for ten minutes before she realised they had both gone.

There was a lot of information one could pick up from eavesdropping arguments too.

Loghain and Leliana were at each other's throats, or Loghain turned into a bear with a sore head whenever Leliana opened her mouth. Fully understandable, Dyrfinna had felt that sore head about 'silhouette enchancing bias cut and plunging necklines'.

As soon as camp was set Loghain asked Thorvald for his bow and beckoned Dyrfinna to join him. "I'm not eating what they're cooking." He stated, a venomous glance back at the painted lowlander and Alistair as they were attempting to cook.

Dyrfinna shrugged off her jacket and unstrapped her cuirass, dropping all but her clan dagger and ancestral sword to her bedroll. It was a hot evening, Solace, even in the mountains it didn't snow this time of the year but this was ridiculous. She glanced back behind her ask she followed the dragon warrior, the Hawke siblings were arguing now.

* * *

Bethany huffed away from her brother. He blamed her for getting caught by templars, said she was always trying to do what he did. It wasn't as if she'd ever asked to be a Grey Warden. She didn't want to fight darkspawn for the rest of her Maker given life. That was why her father had taught her to heal. _These hands where meant to do good little one. They aren't meant to hurt._

Maker, ever since her father, the only other apostate she'd ever known had died she'd felt cast adrift, Carver had become an angry young man, enlisting in the army. Miriam had signed up to the Blackstone Irregulars, had become angry and found her outlet.

There wasn't an outlet for her. She'd retreated into a shell. "Chin up shaman, siblings fight." Thorvald, the Avvar man smiled.

"Carver and I were always at each other's throats, he used to nail my plaits to the headboard when we were younger." Bethany sighed, sitting down next to him. The Avvar chuckled.

"My sons always fought, their mothers would be at their wits ends. I remember, my eldest Bjorn, set Njall's hair on fire once. He put it out quickly, but they fought - often."

"Your son was a mage?" Bethany breathed.

"Both were. My clansman, Gusir, his daughter Helga was shaman also. Our clan was slaughtered by lowlander 'chant tree' for it. They wished to place them in bondage." He smiled wistfully. "But my whole clan is with the Lady of the Skies now. I continue to live. The truth is they most probably still have scraps with the Lady watching them."

"I guess you aren't a big fan of Alistair then." She idly twirled a lock of hair on her index finger, her gaze drifting to the Orlesian and templar, both turned Grey Wardens like herself.

"I have no feelings either way about what he was." The man shrugged. "He has not harmed any shaman, he was trained as this templar but freely admitted that he hated such learnings, despises what they made him watch. They are his stories to tell though."

"Oh." Bethany bit her lip. She had... thought all templars were the same. As soon as she'd learnt of Alistair's training there had been a wall built around what he was, naming him an enemy. That and Morrigan, despite her views on her own training and supposed weakness, had been at his throat, he just as full of vitriol.

"I think he needs a friend. Dyr is doting, but tough. Lucien is cracking from pressure. Loghain is somewhat preoccupied with ensuring we are not stabbed in the back by the painted lowlander. I... have spoken to him, but he needs someone who can give soothing words, a healer's touch to the memory of the previous Commander."

Bethany paused a moment, just staring at the Avvar man, his green horns emblazoned on each cheek interspersed with black stubble. "You're a watcher. You watch people."

"I was a scout. It was my role in the clan." Thorvald shrugged again. "But I think you should speak to him. You are both the same age are you not?"

"I... I don't know." She admitted. It dawned on her that Loghain, Lucien and the two Avvar were most probably the oldest people here, and the female Avvar couldn't be much older than the rest of them.

Bethany got up and walked to the stewpot, sniffing cautiously at the bubbling - grey - that was in there. "Oh, hello." The former Chantry sister smiled at her. "I think I know you. Your face is familiar, did you go to the services in Lothering?"

"Yes." Bethany made sure she didn't breathe too much. Whatever was cooking was not appealing in the slightest. She might volunteer to drink that awful darkspawn blood again.

"Oh I know that face. I know it's bad but wait 'til your Warden hunger kicks in. You'll be thankful for even my taste-destroying offerings." Alistair smirked.

"Warden hunger?" Bethany asked, eyebrows raised. Just what was that?

"Oh. Yeah, you're going to get hungry, very hungry, almost breathe your food in." he snorted. "I swear, no-one told me, they found me raiding the larder in the Warden Compound in Denerim, gravy dripping down my chin and my cheeks stuffed with cheese. Duncan just stood there, shrouded by light, laughing and offered to wipe my chin when I was done gobbling the supplies."

"You're... feeling better about that aren't you?" Bethany smiled at him.

"Taking a leaf out of the books of our resident barbarians. Much better to remember the good times rather than being maudlin." He twisted his mouth, as if unsure of his own words. "Plus, I have so many people, all looking out for me. It's nice - different - but nice."

"I'm glad to hear that Alistair." Bethany nodded. "Remember that I'll be here too then, none of us are alone as long as we stand together."

"Beautiful and clever." His eyes suddenly widened, his tan skin darkening to almost radish coloured. "I er..."

"Beautiful eh?" It was Bethany's turn to blush. Boys had always looked at Miriam, she was curvier, and stood out more because she didn't have magic to hide.

"Oh come on. You're wheedling compliments now." Alistair smirked. "But you're... you know. You are pretty."

"Oh how cute!" Leliana gushed. She leaned over to Alistair and whispered something that made him go even redder, if that was even possible. It could have been the heat of the campfire.

"I'm going to go... and talk to Lucien. See if I can do the warding spell. I'll... speak to you later Alistair."

"Oh... okay. Erm... your eyes sparkle like newly polished coppers." Leliana batted him on the shoulder. "Ow!"

"Thank you." Bethany pursed her lips and walked slowly away, painful aware of how her hips swayed as she walked.

"You said compliment her eyes!" Alistair hissed to the former Chantry sister.

"I said compliment! Not say she looks like a piece of metal!" She snapped back, followed by another swift 'ow'. "Stop staring, you'll bore a hole in her back."

* * *

Dyrfinna found out that she couldn't even hold a bow correctly. Let alone fire an arrow. Of course, she knew this before, Gunnhildr had said as much, but she'd never found out how terrible her attempt was.

Loghain had bagged a goose after she'd scared the flock off with her own arrow. He'd taken the bow off her swiftly, firing and shooting it down with ease.

"There's timing. You're too impatient." He sighed, pushing his fingers around the arrowhead to pull it from the bird without causing too much blood to seep out. "I trust you can field dress a bird though?"

"Of course?" Dyrfinna arched an eyebrow, stepping into the clearing and picking the goose up by the feet.

She flopped into a crossed leg position, pulling feathers in the direction of their growth, piling them to her side.

Using her clan dagger, she swiftly separated the head and neck from the bird, letting the most of the blood drain quickly out and pierced the cavity of its body just under the breast bone, opening it to reveal unpierced organs that were pulled easily enough out, a few needing a nick from her dagger to be removed.

The organs were quickly snapped up by Asgrim. "Did that even touch the sides?" Loghain posed to the hound. He looked up at the warrior, muzzle bloody and his tail wagging. "I'll take that as a no."

Dyrfinna looked up at him, he'd been silent throughout her field-dressing of the bird. She untwisted the cap off her hipflask and washed the blood off the goose. "Done sufficiently?"

"Hmph." He rolled his eyes. "You've done that before."

"I should hope so." Dyrfinna shook her head, standing with the bird's legs in her left hand. "But we have food now that should be edible and not cooked by the painted lowlander or Alistair. When Lucien said the man cannot cook - he told me about grey stew that was both undercooked and burnt."

"Grey stew. I take it not a Grey Warden recipe?"

"Apparently lamb and pea."

"Maker." He snorted. "He'd make a killing as a cook in an inn."

"My husbands couldn't cook... for toffee? They couldn't cook for toffee. But then again Erlend was a shepherd and Svien a blacksmith." She smiled at the memory of the first time Erlend had tried to cook, the way she'd had to eat some of it when she was ill.

"Husbands - plural?" Loghain asked surprised. "I never thought about the Avvar being polygamous."

"We aren't. My first husband was the father of my son, my second I had to leave when I left my clan. They're good friends." Dyrfinna then went onto explain the Avvar traditions on marriage, Loghain the lowlander ones. "You mean the bride and groom are bound until death or if your 'chant tree' declares a divorce? How odd."

"I'm sure many would think your traditions odd." Loghain replied.

"I suppose." She shrugged. "The dwarven people are polygamous, there is a famous ballad about a cultural misunderstanding between a dwarf and an Avvar who married, my son loved it. As Alistair put it, we could have 'Avvar story-time' and Thorvald and I shall tell the ballads."

They returned to find something very acrid in smell being dished out, Morrigan transforming into a wolf and running off into the treeline. Lucien held his nose as he spooned his food quickly in his mouth, readying his flask and washing his mouth out.

Carver looked up. "The hunters return. Maker, please - cook something that even looks like food."

"Oh eat it." Lucien groaned, gulping another mouthful from his flask. "It isn't bad if you don't chew."

"Yeah!" Alistair gestured with his spoon.

"It has a certain... texture." Leliana splattered the food back into her bowl. "But I have never felt so hungry in my entire life. I could eat even this."

"Some of us prefer edible, non-poisoned fare." Loghain grumbled, taking the goose from Dyrfinna and spitting the bird angrily.

* * *

It was needless to say, despite the clawing hunger, most people waited until the goose had cooked, having a small portion over their previous meal.

Morrigan sauntered back into camp, wiping blood from her face. "I don't even want to know." Alistair commented when the shaman retreated into her tent.

"I doubt many of us do." Lucien pursed his lips. "Actually, do you reckon when she's a bird or a wolf she thinks like one It's an interesting concept."

"She chases bunny rabbits and chomps them." Alistair levelled. "I think that means yes. Then again, this is Morrigan we're talking about."

"The skill sounds useful enough." Thorvald shrugged. "Food could be scarce so she could become smaller, needing less."

"Or she could disappear."

"Aren't you grateful to be alive Alistair? She's our payment for you and Dyr from Flemeth. Look after her daughter. Ancient witches aren't to be crossed, my new motto." Lucien put a hand to his stomach. "That and Alistair is not cooking again."

"Hey!" The former templar pouted.

"I reckon even my cooking would be better." Carver grumbled.

"Go make your badges with Dyr and Loghain." Alistair smirked, to whit Carver very childishly stuck his tongue out.


	8. Ritual Dismemberment & Paragons!

Author note: So I post at about 1am my time, wake up 6 hours later for work and have 5 reviews? That was quick, and it inspired me to try and get this chapter out quicker.

Oh btw, Alistair. In personal head-canon Alistair has only three possible loves. Anora (you knew I was going to say that), Bethany (if Hawke is a non-mage and Bethany a GW as well as he), or Morrigan (the most epic rivalmancy ever concocted, for the eventuality that Carver is the alive sibling of Hawke and/or Alistair is King alone, a sad ending).

So, without further ado, I bring you this next chapter, keep the reviews up and I'll get my typing gloves on! This chapter ended up kinda humorous for me... oops?

Oh - and I just realised Bodahn and Sandal didn't make a reappearance. They won't 'catch up' to the Wardens until after Orzammar. But a lot of dwarven lore in this - just happened when a talkative dwarf found them.

* * *

Life seemed to settle into a disjointed pattern in their travels. Through rain, humid, muggy heat and getting mud-baths when it actually poured in ropes from the skies - they would argue.

When in the small hamlets and villages where they picked up coin doing odd jobs or traded for fresh food and milk, they split into one group keeping camp and one doing the job. It tended to be Loghain, Thorvald, Alistair and Carver off into the village and the women with Lucien and Asgrim left in the camp.

Dyrfinna and Morrigan were vocal enough about being left behind. Trust lowlanders to believe women were weak, snivelling creatures.

Of course, Bethany and Carver were vocal enough about how Bethany wished she could have been born without magic, hating that it was the only reason Lucien had sought to 'save' her. And Carver would go on about how her magic had meant he couldn't be the best he could be, his head kept down as to not be noticed. That was tiring and repeated daily without hesitation.

Morrigan and Alistair had almost tri-daily squabbles, usually along the lines of "You have the brains of a hound. No, that is unfair to the mangy mutt that travels with us, and at least he washes in puddles." Usually followed by something about lacking emotions from Alistair to the witch.

Loghain and Leliana of course, would never get along. Loghain would never let his guard down, groaning and rolling his eyes if the girl attempted to speak to him. Leliana on the other hand did nothing to help matters, having quite openly spoken of her distaste for Ferelden cooking and how she had found such comfort in the 'chant tree'. Which apparently despite being something that was followed in most of the countries in Thedas, was very Orlesian.

It was only one more day until they should reach Orzammar, Carver had complained when a clump of snow was blown in the wind, hitting him on the shoulder, some of it going into his tunic and new chest-plate they had bought.

Bethany and Morrigan had both been quick to say the virtues of magic for keeping warm and Dyrfinna and Thorvald had shrugged, both used to weather harsher than this as the usual.

Lucien snapped, every argument brought up to the surface. Just threw his staff and the reins to Greagoir on the floor and stopped walking, growling. "That's it! We're Grey Wardens! Not fucking children! Tonight Loghain and Leliana are both on cooking duty. You - Loghain can make sure she doesn't poison it. And you - Leliana can make sure it's not too stodgy and heavy for your Orlesian tastes." He took a deep breath in through gritted teeth, his sky blue eyes wild in the blowing snow.

"Yes... commander." Loghain narrowed his eyes, glancing sideways to the painted lowlander.

"Yes Lucien." Leliana muttered submissively.

"And you two! I'm looking at the Hawklings here. You both have massive chips on you shoulders. Carver because he thinks he never got to excel and Bethany because of pretty much the same thing. Well get this through your skulls! You're both Grey Wardens now, hand-picked defenders against the Blight! Scourge of the darkspawn. If you don't like it I can find an entrance to the deep roads and drop one of you into it. You're both on tent and latrine duty tonight."

Carver growled and didn't meet Lucien's eyes when he nodded that he would do as asked. Bethany pursed her lips, sheepishly nodding.

"Dyrfinna, Thorvald - one more word about lowlanders and the Avvar and how you do things differently or better and you both get your Avvar arses zapped into the deep roads too."

"Yes shaman." Thorvald grit his teeth.

"Understood." Dyrfinna crossed her arms, widening her stance subconsciously in the terrain.

"Alistair, Morrigan. One more word even. I swear - one word. You're both going to put into a geas. Yes - I can do some of those wilder magics, being an apostate was a learning experience. So imagine finding that saying something horrible made the other person love you. Uncontrollable love, flowers and heartfelt devotion sort of love."

"You would not dare." Morrigan's almond shaped yellow eyes locked onto the commanding shaman, her hands balling into slender fists.

"Oh Maker, I feel sick thinking about it!" Alistair made a retching noise.

Then silence descended over them all, each glaring at the shaman, his black hair flecked with snow, still breathing heavily. "So what's your plan then. Make us all sit in a circle, hold hands, chant and say what we like most about the person next to us?" Alistair finally quipped.

"Great idea!" Lucien grinned. "Tonight and every Tuesday will become 'I like this about you' Tuesday." He spun on the spot, picked up his staff as if nothing had happened, grabbing Greagoir's reins.

"More like ritual dismemberment Tuesday." Alistair muttered.

"Bloody brilliant. This'll be your fault." Carver sneered.

"Nu-uh Hawling number one, we keep a lid on our tempers here!" Lucien tutted in a sing-song voice.

* * *

Nobody wanted to do it. Lucien managed to rig up his canvas tent over three sets of tent poles to make an open 'marquee', melting the snow and drying the ground with a quick fire spell. Then he growled - fire running up and down his arms, licking at his robes, not burning them but the heat could be felt a few feet away.

Needless to say, even Morrigan had say down in the circle, Lucien sitting at the northernmost edge of it. "Good evening Wardens and our companion Morrigan. Welcome to anger management and being a nice person, lesson number one."

"Oh please." Morrigan murmured, rolling those yellow eyes and fluttering her long eyelashes.

"Yes Morrigan. Manners are very important in being a nice person." Lucien smiled, his false gaiety worrying. "Our first objective today will be to say something nice to someone you don't like or something you don't like. I'll start, Carver - you're a fine warrior and loyal to your beliefs. Now you say something nice to your sister."

"I didn't know he didn't like you." Bethany whispered to her brother.

"Fine." Carver grumbled. "But I still love my sister, even if I don't like her."

"Excellent. Bethany - something nice to Carver." Lucien gestured.

"Thank you for always looking out for me as we grew up. I know it would've been easier just to give father and me up and live a normal life." Bethany declared.

"Well done. Now, Alistair - something nice to Morrigan." Alistair paled and glanced over to the witch.

"Er... you're a very powerful mage?" He twisted his lips to the side. "And don't make me say anything else. I can't think of anything."

"Hardly a change in your usual thought processes then, I do hope you feed that starved brain of yours, one would think it might have died of malnutrition by now." Lucien put a fireball into the middle of the circle.

"Act like children and you'll get scolded like one. Now it's Morrigan's turn, she has to say nice things about Bethany, Alistair AND Leliana."

Morrigan glared at the commander, her eyebrows pinched together and her plump lips thinning. "Fine, if you insist, Bethany is not a simpering fool, having managed to evade the templar idiots as long as she did. Alistair is..."

"I'm waiting..." Alistair grinned, triumphant at the hesitation of the woman of the wilds.

"He has a strong jawline." Morrigan shrugged. "And the delusional Chantry sister can play that lute of hers."

"Excellent, that wasn't so difficult now? Let's keep this ball rolling then and we can have Thorvald say something nice to... shit. I know! You have to say something non-flattering about the Avvar. Now."

"Our people do not make much contact with lowlanders because they are scared their influence will turn us against ourselves." Thorvald pursed his lips. "What? It happens to be true, we do not let lowlanders close because we fear their influence in turning us into barbarians."

"Good. Now something nice about lowlanders." Lucien nudged.

"They have fine writing implements." He said quickly.

"Great. Loghain - your turn. Say something nice about Orlesians or to Leliana." Lucien glared at the dragon warrior. "Now."

"No." Loghain stared nonplussed back at the shaman. Lucien blinked, raising his hands.

"A geas then, say something nice now or you'll end up unable to say anything BUT nice things to Leliana and about Orlais." Leliana looked slightly expectantly at Loghain.

"Fine." He furrowed his brows, scowling at the ground in front of him. "If not for Orlesians being as they are I doubt we'd have rebelled so successfully, people forced into the fight from desperation."

"That is likely the best we shall get." Leliana cooed. "I suppose it is my turn now then."

"Oh go ahead." Lucien sighed.

"Loghain is a figure of childhood stories in Orlais, a dashing rebel. To have met him and fought alongside him is an honour." She nodded swiftly. "That was not difficult."

"So we come down to you Dyrfinna, now despite being hard-headed and vocal - you don't actually say you hate anyone."

"I hate every little thing about lowlander life. From being called a heathen and a barbarian to being viewed as simple and weak. The one good thing I have seen was that some of the people have honour, and can be respectful." She got up. "As much as we should be getting along - I find this whole exercise pointless. There is a hot spring five minutes away and I need a bath." Dyrfinna managed to walk away, treading the snow lightly to where she had seen the spring, picking up the net bag that carried their soaps.

* * *

Dyrfinna left her clothes on the rock, easing herself into the hot water, dipping her head under the soothing liquid. It smelled slightly of sulphur, like brimstone, so they were close to lava, which was the reason this pocket of snow had melted, the underground water source kept hot.

"Is it safe to use my eyes?" Alistair had his hands over his eyes.

"Uncover your eyes or you will fall on the rocks. There is nothing that has not been seen before on show." In fact, a vest and her smallclothes covered her in case any wished to join her.

Hesitantly he peeked out from behind his fingers. "Phew. Anyway, I figured that you're most probably angry and I'll get chewed up for dinner but I guessed you might need a friend."

"I missed my son's nameday. I knew I would but it still hurts." She stated, snorting a hot breath into the water that touched her chin where she sat in the spring. "I have never even been this long from him. I miss his laughter, ruffling his hair, I miss his father and his stupid smile, my husband's arms and his snoring. I miss my clan so much it hurts."

"I guess we all give up a lot." Alistair sighed. "If it's any consolation, we're seeing about getting your clan and the other Avvar clans to help us fight the Blight. You can see them pretty soon."

"It is not. But thank you." She watched as the blond Warden walked away. She grabbed the harsh soap and scrubbed for all she was worth at the dirt covering her body and hair before dipping under the surface of the water to rinse off.

* * *

Half dry and in a clean tunic and britches, Dyrfinna watched everyone go about what they'd been tasked to, Loghain begrudgingly helping the painted lowlander with the food in silence. They were well into their dry stock now, smoked boar and barley grains.

Carver and Bethany were also in silence, digging in the hardened ground the latrine.

Thorvald sat on his bedroll, writing in the leather bound book. It was going to be a project, she and Thorvald would write down the stories and ballads of their journey in the lowlands. A new ballad for the ages.

Lucien smiled at everything. Morrigan was no-where to be seen but she never ate with them, preferring to hunt as an animal her own food.

At seeing her, Alistair grabbed some clean underpadding for his armour and the net bag of soaps, heading to the hot spring.

* * *

It was early the next day when the Grey Warden group arrived at Orzammar, eager to sleep in beds in the Warden quarters of the dwarven kingdom. Lucien recalled that they were without needs here, food and washing facilities and they could get tailor made armour to reflect their status as Grey Wardens rather than each in their own armour.

The great stone doors, carved with such awe inspiring skill nestled into the very mountain. Three weeks, but they had arrived now.

"Halt surfacers. None are to go in." A dwarf, brown beard plaited down to his navel, stocky with fine armour of chain stopped them at the doors.

"I had wondered why so many would set camp outside, the last time I was here, there was hardly a soul outside." Thorvald mused aloud, gesturing behind him to the plethora of tents, merchants gawking wares to each other, sharing fires.

"Ah... thought you looked familiar, you brought those massive dogs in with those other cloudheads." The dwarf put a hand to his chin over his beard, rubbing thoughtfully. "Look, I'll level with you then, our King passed onto the Stone two weeks ago. Orzammar is chaos, blood on the streets and deshyrs scrambling for the throne. We're only got two contenders that really look like they'll get it."

"We're Grey Wardens." Lucien butted in when the dwarven guard paused for breath. "There's a Blight on and we have a treaty compelling Orzammar to give us troops."

"Rude." The dwarf grunted. "Well - let's see." Lucien looked through one of the saddlebags on Greagoir, drawing out the vellum that was stamped with a yellow wax seal. The dwarf took it, unfurling it and clearing his throat as he read. "Ah ha, only our King is compelled. Blight or no Blight we haven't a King."

"Balls." Carver called him out. "We'll talk to these contenders you have, get them both to promise us the troops we need and when they've finished measuring them on your stone they can send us our troops."

The group turned to the young warrior, most with eyebrows raised in shock. Loghain stepped forward with a sigh. "Remember me maybe?" The dwarf looked at him up and down, realization dawning on his features.

"Sodding Ancestors. Teyrn Loghain... did you... want entrance into Orzammar?"

"Very much, for myself and my fellow Wardens." Loghain nodded.

And it was a fantastic and horrid thing the dragon warrior had been tainted and survived the Joining Ritual as those great carved stone doors were opened, Korth's domain opening to the group. Dyrfinna and Thorvald both fell to their knees.

"Tho we step into the shadows of your domain Mountain Father, may we be blessed in the lands you gifted to the chosen people." They both bowed their foreheads to the ground.

"Oh - I remember you now. Avvar. Just keep moving everyone, they'll be praying for about ten minutes." The dwarf shook his head.

"But this is so interesting!" Leliana cheered. "It is not the Maker but it is... quaint." Both of the Avvar Wardens looked up at the painted lowlander, scowls on their tattooed faces. "Or maybe not."

"Here's a hint. Don't call other people's beliefs quaint." Lucien sighed. "We'll wait, we move as a group. Blood on the streets means I'd prefer to have our head scout both with us and... well. I'm curious if I tell the truth."

The two Avvar continued the sayings in echo of each other, getting off their knees, brushing their tattoos with their thumbs and pushing them together before swiping the tattoo of the other. Finishing the prayers. "Good to go."

"Blessings of the Mountain Father, for He created the lands of the dwarves, His chosen people, the Avvar brothers in arms?" Alistair repeated.

"Yes." Dyrfinna pursed her lips, gazing into the darkened room, cleft from the mountain itself, craft evident from the even flat floor to the stone statues of dwarven ancestors. Light was cast from a runic lantern the dwarf that had guarded the entrance held, touching it to larger stones to light more of the runes as he passed. Light burst forth higher up as more of te runes lit up, each area lighting as they passed.

"Hall of the Paragons, our most Revered Ancestors." The dwarf sounded. "Paragon Seuss, poet and writer who brought a re-fillable implement known as a pen into Thedas, fantastic with a rhyme too." He gestured at one of the statues.

"I've owned one of those, I left it in the Denerim Warden Compound. Very useful." Lucien mentioned.

"And Paragon Rolex, creator of the mechanical clock." He gestured to another.

"My daughter had one, left it in Gwaren. I can't hear the damned ticking thing without thinking of the way her face lit up when I gave it to her." Loghain snorted.

"Their ticking is bothersome. We have silent ones now, only the barest noise in a quiet room." The dwarf smiled, nodding. "Not the same of course. And this one is Paragon Aeducan, political that brought the dwarves together during the First Blight. His descendants were blessed by the Ancestors, ruled Orzammar for quite a few generations now. On and off."

"Endrin was the King that died. A good King, met him once before we tried taking Aeducan Thaig back once with the dwarven army." Lucien muttered.

"That he was. Shame about his offspring. Regardless... Next one is Astyth the Grey, first female Paragon, founded a group of warriors called the Silent Sisters. They emulate her by cutting their tongues out, nasty business but nothing to do with me. Became Paragon for sacrificing herself for the King at the time."

"A proud warrior woman." Dyrfinna breathed, catching the subtle cut of the stone, the musculature even in blocky stone apparent, trails cut into her chin like rivulets of blood.

"Indeed Warden. Anyway, this one is Paragon Ortan, he wrote plays and musical numbers alongside Paragon Shakespeare. His most famous was is own work though, Seven Brides For Seven Brothers. About seven Avvar who stole six girls from a village at the base of their mountain, the eldest already married to one of the girls from the village. Nice musical score and nothing like it for a laugh."

"No basis in fact." Thorvald quickly announced. "We do not steal women, but even we have that ballad, it is laudable."

"Exactly, hilarious. And this next one is one of my personal ancestors. Paragon Varen, he discovered nugs were edible. The story goes that because nugs are pink they have to be poisonous from lyrium exposure. He was bet over two-hundred gold coins to eat one so he set up a big stage and ate twenty right in front of the assembly. A food shortage meant he was made Paragon."

They continued further into the mountain, listening as the descendant of the Paragon Varen continued to tell them the stories behind the statues. The room opened up into a great bridge, lava streaming from and underneath it, light everywhere. "Now this one is Paragon Caridin. Made golems on his invention The Anvil of the Void. Lost knowledge now but without the Legion of Steel and Stone I reckon Orzammar'd be lost to the darkspawn long ago. Oh... and interestingly enough the next two are smith Paragons too. Paragon Heldane Zadol perfected the art of folding steel, his blades are coveted by the Shaperate and every warrior ever born in Orzammar. And Paragon Branka, found a smokeless fuel for the forge, deaths from blacklung are a thing of the past now. Only Paragon made in Orzammar in our lifetimes. Disappeared into the deep roads two years back now, no idea why but she took her whole house, about two hundred dwarves."

The dwarf pulled a chain and a great stone bridge descended into the massive underground city. "Anyway, thanks for listening, always wanted to be a scholar, you've all made an old dwarf very happy. Atrast tunsha Grey Wardens, I hope you get those troops."

And with that, he left them there, staring at the stone buildings, lit up by the lava floes, runic lighting on the buildings where shadows were cast. For underground it was easily as bright as outside. And hotter than a forge.

* * *

They entered the city proper, unaccompanied by the talkative wannabe scholar-guard to see a shouting match at the centre of a massive crossroads, sides drawn on one side in red tinted chainmail, a dwarf with a gingery beard and heavy set eyes at the point of them, the other side mainly in expensive looking linens, grey chain on what warriors stood on the other.

"My father would have the thone passed to his only living child!" The red-tinted leader shouted.

"Endrin, Stone protect him, would not have your anarchy to poison the dwarves Bhelen." The leader of the opposing side said calmly, his great plaited grey beard and bulbous nose being prominent in his features.

"You speak for my father do you Pyral? You tried to get him in your pocket." This 'Bhelen' spat.

"Don't you dare you whelp!" One of the grey warriors drew his maul out and Bhelen swiftly twitched his fingers, a red-tinted chain figure moving forward, one large hand-axe and a smaller one in his off-hand draw with a twirl. His bright red hair shimmered in the lava light as the two dwarves neared each other and he parried the maul away, twisting violently to embed both axes in the chest of the grey-chain dwarf, downing him with unparalleled skill, blood splattering over the backwards 'S' marking on his cheek.

"Well done Brosca." Bhelen nodded. "Come. We are done here. When you can speak in a civilised manner Pyral the assembly might give you a look in but don't hold your breath."

"Absolute disgrace." A guard approached their group. "Outsiders in Orzammar and you see our worst."

"The contenders for the throne?" Lucien drawled. "They seem like such balanced people."

"You said it cloudhead." The guard rolled his eyes. "The whole assembly is deadlocked about it."

"Are they going to... see to the body?" Bethany waved a hand in the vague direction of the dead dwarf - where already two men were cleaning up. "Ah."

"Efficient, a job for everyone." Loghain nodded. "So who are they, how do we get an audience with them?"

The guardsman stared upwards to the impressively tall warrior. "Ancestors Arse. Loghain Mac Tir as I live and breathe."

"Yes. You were going to tell us some information?" Loghain wave a hand dismissively.

"Of course. Well, Bhelen Aeducan can be found in the Diamond Quarter, his second Vartag Gavorn in Tapsters bar. Pyral Harrowmont - again, Diamond Quarter, Dulin Forender his second tends to lurk in the Assembly, wheedling votes. Doesn't make a dent, for every one he gets Bhelen has two supporters that sway that deshyr right back." The guard shrugged. "What can you do about it eh?"

"Well we happen to be Grey Wardens." Lucien stepped forward. "So perhaps our support will sway the right people permanently enough that the vote can go through? We need the dwarven troops against the Blight you see. Nasty business that I'm sure you're all concerned about."

"Not really." The dwarf shrugged. "Darkspawn on the surface means less attacking us. Your Blight means our holiday. Do you know your way to the Warden Compound though?"

"Of course." Lucien nodded his head. "Come Wardens, we're going on an information mission when we've set up."

* * *

There were so many rooms in the Compound, fully staffed even when the Wardens weren't in residence, the larder stocked and a lot of arms and armour, for mage and warriors alike. Lucien showed them to a fitting room where a woman, pins between her lips and a rolled tape measure in her hand looked them all up and down.

"Gertie! Get me a pen! I have a lot of alterations!" She shouted.

* * *

Measurements thoroughly taken and personal spaces barged into and examined in minute detail, only Alistair and Carver had Warden uniform armour at the ready. Dyrfinna, Loghain, Leliana, Thorvald and Bethany would need alterations made to existing ones. They even measured Asgrim up for a leather battle armour specifically made for mabari. The hound had yapped relentlessly at the extra attention.

Lucien called them into the dining room, picking up a bright yellow bulb and biting into it, chewing it, his face lighting up. "Nothing like underground apples. Sweet as anything. So, we have the names and the places. I want half of us in one group, information on this Pyral Harrowmont, his policies and his life story if you need to. Same for Bhelen Aeducan. Everything you can. We'll throw our lot in with the strongest one, hope it's enough, get grateful troops from the lord and hop off to the Avvar to have them give us troops."

"Sleep first. It's been a long day Luce." Alistair groaned, head hitting the table with a smack as he feebly reached out to the fruits and vegetables piled down the centre of the long table.

"I quite agree. You can only push your men so hard." Loghain tiredly grabbed one of the yellow bulbs. It didn't look like any apple Dyrfinna had ever seen. Sounded like one from the crunch.

"Right. So I was thinking of trying this Harrowmont fellow, Loghain can go after the Aeducan fellow. There's dwarven clocks in everyone's rooms. Set them to seven bells, that should put us in line with the dwarven day and night system. We meet by half seven bells here. Goodnight Wardens." Lucien picked up another three of the underground apples and left them in the room.

"Does anyone else feel the bloody darkspawn?" Carver muttered. "Better off during a Blight my arse. It feels like Ostagar. Then again I was only - just - a Warden back then."

"I do not like it." Leliana sniffed. "But the Maker gave me a vision, I shall see it through."

"Keep saying that Orlesian, you might believe it." Loghain rumbled.

* * *

The room was comfortable. The clock a ticking like a heartbeat. So why couldn't she sleep? Bethany turned over under her covers, staring up at the griffon on the banner hung on the wall.

She'd been mulling over what Alistair had said to her the other day. He was... cute. Like a fuzzy peach, sweet. An adorable blush when someone said anything even slightly racy. And he set her heart thrumming more than the taint in her blood.

"What are you going to do Bethany. Over a boy?" She asked herself aloud. Miriam would have sat on the bed with her, combing her hair and telling her exactly what to do. How to say the right things.

Miriam liked older men, said they were more experienced. But Bethany didn't see the appeal, and a warrior, at just coming into their prime was a sight she longed to see. Sighing, she padded out of the bed, slipping a loose robe around herself and staring out into the courtyard of the Warden Compound.

Thorvald, he was like another father, not attempting to replace but honour the memory of her own late father. He was fletching arrows, occassionall picking up his book, jotting something down and going back to the monotonous task.

Dyrfinna was attacking a straw dummy for everything she was worth. She'd never seen anyone use a shield like a weapon but the Avvar woman did.

Then she caught sight of something that stilled the breath in her throat. Loghain and Alistair sparring with wooden practice swords. Loghain in tunic and britches, easily matching and overpowering the younger warrior.

But Maker's breath... Alistair, topless, britches clinging to the muscles of his legs, the play of his abdomen as he attempted to twist and turn out of the way from more advanced moves. Even from here she could see the sweat glistening on his body, the strain of sinews as he moved.

Her mouth opened involuntarily and she sucked in a warm gulp of air from the room. Maker... give her strength not to imagine that until seven bells. She needed sleep! Being a Warden didn't give her much and now she was going to be haunted by that.

The best haunting she'd ever had but... oh please! Carver strode in, shirtless also, challenging the two warriors already at the spar to attack him. And they put him on his behind. She heard Alistair chuckle and help her brother back to his feet.

Then Carver laughed.

Oh Maker... preserve and protect her - her brother liked the man. She was falling for him. And he'd called her beautiful.

This couldn't leave her head. No matter what. Not one bit - Carver would become an over-protective brother again and Morrigan would sneer no doubt.


	9. Babysitting Wardens

Author note: I hope you liked the opening to Orzammar as I have a fascination with everything to do with dwarves. So much gets skipped in fics or the plot moves too slowly. Hopefully I'll get a good balance here.

Mainly a bit of switching between Loghain and Lucien with their POVs before we get back to Dyrfinna. It should be hilarious (it was... to me).

*knurd - the complete opposite of drunk. Not sober - well past sober. From Terry Pratchett's mind.

* * *

"I do not like green eggs and mush, I do not like them so nugling hush." Loghain's eyebrows were raised in amusement as the group passed by children playing in the streets, chalk boxes draw on the stone and a pebble thrown to indicate how far they would skip and hop along the boxes before twisting mid-jump and returning to the beginning.

"Paragon Seuss." Alistair grinned, knowing something the others didn't. "He wrote childrens nursery rhymes. There was a nice book in the library filled with them."

"Have you got that etching of the map held the right way up?" Bethany lifted up to peer over Alistair's shoulders, her cheeks pinking suddenly.

"Oh I'm posi-wostive." Alistair smirked. "This Tapsters is just down there, 'Forge Street'. Only just outside the Merchants Guild and a spitting distance from the smith district."

"You sound like a tourist guide lad." Loghain rolled his eyes. He was completely obvlivious to why Bethany was blushing, most probably putting it down to this unholy heat that Orzammar had.

"We're sort of like tourists though." Bethany shrugged. "I've certainly never been to Orzammar before."

"The nomadic clans come here as a pilgrimage." Dyrfinna stared at the buildings, the steam and smoke that rose from the smithing district, the barred gates around the great building that was the Merchant Guild. "The settled did not."

"I've been in the deep roads, but never to Orzammar." Alistair shrugged. "You've been to Orzammar before haven't you Loghain?"

"I have. Alright - this place is likely to be filled with political types if it's anything like The Gnawed Noble. Don't speak to anyone unless you're positive it's this Gavorn fellow. Keep all weapons close, thieves operate wherever easy targets are had, and there's no easier target than a drunk man." He stopped in front of a building that had a hanging wooden sign of a foaming tankard off a wrought twisted metal pole.

"Don't be a worry wart - we're not children." Alistair sighed. "Though we might want to hold our noses. This smells worse than Asgrim after he tried to get my cheese."

"That was Asgrim rifling though Loghain's pockets. He keeps food in them." Dyrfinna smirked to herself. Asgrim at her side padded up to Loghain, pawing the top of his boots and whining.

"Scavenger is what you are." Loghain muttered, reaching into his pocket and dropping a piece of the dried smoked boar for it to be snapped up mid-air. "But you're all young, and sheltered from some of the nastier sides of the world. Like coin."

"Do not bring that up!" Dyrfinna crossed her arms petulantly, narrowing her eyes and giving Loghain her best scowl. "_You_ cannot 'haggle for toffee' although I have no idea what toffee is."

"Maker's breath, it's this gorgeous gooey sweet. You get it stuck to your teeth for days after eating, hazelnut toffee... now I'm hungry. Thanks Dyr." Alistair snorted a laugh.

"Why would you haggle for toffee?" Dyrfinna furrowed her brows together. Loghain slapped a palm over his face.

"I'm not explaining a saying." He groaned. "Come on. And mind the puddle of sick."

* * *

Lucien kept his arms crossed as he watched the dwarven deshyrs or lords and ladies in their stone arena. Steward Bandelor in the centre trying to call for silence as sparring matches were challenged and venomous words spat with smiling faces.

This was why he'd never looked into politics. It looked complicated. "Bloody dwarves. I think that one over there with the bun holding her wrinkles off her face just slipped poison into the drink of the man next to her." Carver muttered in aside to him. The new Warden-Commander had seen it too. Best not even look when the man drank, it could be a bit disgusting to see someone go through the stages of poisoning.

"Tis certainly amusing. Perhaps if we let them continue the dead will all be from one side of this debate and our vote will be secured." Morrigans lips quirked into an amused smile, the right side higher than the left.

"It is not dissimilar to The Game. The court in Orlais was harder to read than this, you can clearly see where each of these dwarves stand, who they wish to rule them. Most intriguing." Leliana smiled, craning over the bannister to take a closer look at a pamphlet held by one of the higher up deshyrs.

"You're savvy on politics?" Lucien remarked, shocked blue if such a thing were possible.

"I do not understand. The most apt becomes Thane, their skills weighed up and the mabari are the best judges of characters."

"So what do you do if two people are picked?" Lucien deflated, not in the mood for 'this is how I would do things' from one of the Avvar today.

"They fight to the death." Thorvald shrugged, idly scratching his black stubble.

"And you claim not to be a barbarian. Do you not see this is how civilised society plays? We of outside their realm would learn to be so underhanded." Morrigan drawled sarcastically. "Even now, the dwarf over on the far right has just slipped a great deal of gold to the one next to him."

"I'm getting a headache." Lucien groaned. "Fresh air Wardens or are we content?"

"You're the Wardens eh?" A dwarf with rusty ginger hair and beard glanced at them. "Here. Support the right people." He passed a thick wad of vellum to Lucien before walking off.

"Well, that was our man no?" Leliana glanced at the papers. "So - let us read this. It could be the policies."

* * *

Loghain was not amused. The young Wardens were drinking, Dyrfinna had 'haggled' the price of the dwarven mead from three copper bits to two each if she bought four of them. Either she didn't care that it was the special written in chalk on the board or hadn't seen it.

And either way, he had Alistair and Bethany giggling like teetotallers while Dyrfinna cooed over the mabari as if it were a baby, very unsubtle about slipping her hand into his own pocket to feed the black hound what scraps he'd pocketed there. He growled as he took a sip of the mead in his own tankard, warning the unsubtle woman from her next attempt at nicking the scraps for the dog. "Didn't think joining the Wardens would be babysitting." He muttered, smacking his lips. Not bad, not the best though. And that hand wasn't trying to get into his pocket any more.

"You lot are Wardens?" A dwarven man with black hair, shorn short, his beard no more than stubble and red-tinted chain leaned onto their table, placing his tankard there and sitting on one of the free low stools. "Vartag Gavorn. Might I speak plainly to you about the throne? I've heard tell of your predicament you see."

"Speak plainly!" Dyrfinna grinned, swallowing the ends of her mead. She could have breathed that in... Loghain would have to speak to the barmaid, make sure he wasn't dragging drunks around now. He'd have to cut of Bethany and Alistair completely though... In fact he might just ban them all from dwarven mead. They were all a bit... off on the stuff.

"Wonderful! Well Prince Bhelen is keen to have your support. Especially when he heard about Loghain Mac Tir standing with your lot. So he _was_ thinking of having a few lords swayed with papers of Harrowmont's duplicity. Our man Brosca got shoved in that one though. He's decided he would prefer something a bit more... underhanded from you if you catch what I mean." Vartag leaned in.

"Go ahead." Loghain tilted his mead to his lips, taking a brief swallow.

"Bhelen would prefer to speak to you all - now. He doesn't play games." Vartag straightened himself up from the stool, downing his drinking quickly. Loghain followed suit.

"Come on then. We have a contender for the throne to see." Loghain snapped his fingers and three Wardens jumped to attention, a black scruffy furball at his heels and begging for another scrap again. Argh.

* * *

"A Proving!" Lucien slammed the wad of papers on the reading desk. "The one thing that requires blood to be shed and Harrowmont wants keen and influential fighters to enlist for his 'honour'. He's got a lot of nerve."

"So what is a Proving?" Leliana asked.

"Just a big blood sport blessed by their Ancestors. No big deal but people can die in it. Live blades. I've watched one before, nasty stuff, Duncan had me heel every nick for some dwarf he recruited, failed the Joining." Lucien slumped his head into the table. "It doesn't say anything about Harrowmont's policies either."

"Let me see." Leliana slipped the pamphlet out from under his head. "Ah ha! You just read between the lines!" She uttered triumphantly after a while.

"So..." He prompted.

"So Harrowmont stands for traditional dwarven values, wishes the dwarven people to be self sufficient, keep crime rates down. The usual promises, but it is this that makes me wonder. He plans on having an expedition bring back two bodies from the deep roads. One Paragon Branka and a princess that was wrongly exiled." Leliana slapped the vellum down.

* * *

Loghain sat in the parlour, watching how the dwarf with the two axes from yesterday sauntered into the room, blood splattered over himself and a grin from ear to ear. "Tell him Houses Helmi and Dace are on our side!" He cheered.

"I'll tell him Brosca." Vartag bowed his head.

"You know where Rica is then?" This Brosca questioned, smearing some of the blood off his face with a chain gauntlet.

"She should be with the Prince, who will be greeting the Wardens shortly. I would take a bath were I you before you see her. In her condition I doubt blood will do her any good." Vartag gestured to a door and Brosca shrugged, padding with almost no sound despite his chain armour in that direction.

"That duster will be the death of me." Vartag groaned. "But he's Bhelen's new pet, brother to his latest wife and a sodding good fighter."

"He certainly looked like it!" Dyrfinna nodded jerkily. "That's darkspawn blood."

"Maker's breath. I... my head hurts." Alistair groaned.

"How can you have a hangover already? It was one pint with a shot of whiskey in for a kick!" Dyrfinna laughed. "Oh we're getting you highly mooned as soon as we can!"

"Highly mooned?" Bethany giggled. "That sounds rude."

"It's an old saying for properly hammered to the bar by your tongue." Loghain rolled his eyes. "You lot can sit here nursing your heads or you can come with and shut it when we get called."

* * *

"So he wants to bring back the bodies of two people?" Thorvald sat opposite him. "That would make sense, the dwarves prefer to have a physical body to return to their stone. Their deaths would not be official but they would be suspected. Any a princess and Paragon would be like having say... a God give a thumbs up to your rule, even if it is just a body. So if he gets the throne and he is successful in retrieving these bodies - it would be very good for him."

"How did you figure that out?" Leliana questioned. Thorvald just stared at her, his expression bored.

"I listened to the descendant of Paragon Varen?" He said sarcastically. Lucien glared at the both of his Wardens to nip that argument in the bud then and there. Or more 'sitting in a circle' and pehaps a geas.

"So if we think this Harrowmont is the next King - all we must do is fight in this Proving. In _his_ honour. Then hopefully our sway as Grey Wardens will be enough that the dwarven assembly will just pick him?" Lucien leaned on the table by his chin, glancing at what Wardens he had. He had no intention of fighting a dwarven berserker in that arena. Void take it - dwarves were well known for being almost born in armour with mauls and maces in their hands. Family weaponry was a huge thing here. "When is it? Perhaps we can get this over and done with."

"Tomorrow. Starting at ten bells, participants to be at the Proving grounds by nine bells." Leliana read aloud. "So we have some time no, to decide if he is the more sensible choice?"

* * *

"Greetings. My father liked to tell us all about you." Prince Bhelen came out to the Wardens, which by Loghain's estimations was quite a risky move. Considering they could be a hostile group working for Harrowmont. "Now Vartag said you do well to be spoken plainly to. So if you wish to support my bid for the throne, I would like a small token of your loyalty."

"I haven't got a handkerchief..." Bethany furrowed her brow and looked at her lap, fingers twisting. Loghain's hand hit his face quicker than Alistair could giggle. Babysitting.

"I do not think that his askance." Dyrfinna muttered to the tipsy mage. The mage nodded slowly and blearily, drawing a line across her lips.

"What would you have of us then?" Loghain asked without preamble.

"A few small tasks. I happen to be a supporter of casteless rights. As you may have noticed, one of my finest warriors is casteless and his sister due to bear me a son." Bhelen gestured behind himself to a woman, vivid red hair, a backwards 'S' on her cheek and a swollen belly, leaning into the doorframe to his office of sorts in the palace. "Even people such as yourself must know what the casteless are."

"No..." Alistair said sheepishly. Again Loghain's hand met his face.

"Ah, perfect. My task - if you do intend to support me, is to head into the slums of Orzammar. We call it Dust Town. It's where the casteless are forced to live. There's a ring of organized crime there after my man Brosca. Exterminate them and plan some evidence that Harrowmont was working with them and it should sway enough of the assembly. That way my new wife has her brother safe from harm and I have Harrowmont derailed." He clicked his fingers and Vartag passed him some papers, which he passed to Loghain.

"Oh that's easy. Just incriminate someone and kill people. No big deal." Alistair shrugged, a flippant grin that Loghain found himself oddly familiar with on his face.

"The dragon warrior will have you by the scruff of your neck." Dyrfinna growled in aside. Loghain found himself grateful as the lad drew a line over his own mouth from then on. It was almost spooky how the lad reminded him of someone... but there was a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut about it because no matter how hard he tried to think about it - he couldn't figure it. It made him feel older, like his memory was going.

"You assume we should get involved in this." Loghain tried to say diplomatically. As well as this meeting had gone... the... commander may have already got this Pyral Harrowmont to promise them troops. Plus his mind was a little pre-occupied.

"I understand, dwarven politics are messy and it's likely Harrowmont will send assassins out to despite the fact that it's the death penalty to kill Wardens here. That would be my second task for you. Go to Harrowmont, pretend to ally with him and bring me some information on what he happens to be doing - you can publicly denounce all ties to myself, but this Carta - should Harrowmont be tied to them. He'll fall hard. It's all I ask. I know your agenda - you want the dwarven troops against the Blight. If I'm the King, you'll have them, as well as the casteless and anyone who shows potential will get given a sword."

"We'll see." Loghain stood, the other Wardens joining him very quickly after. Good meeting, Bhelen put himself on the line with giving them possibly incriminating papers when they hadn't even sworn to him. Back to the compound then.

* * *

Lucien stood in the courtyard of the Warden Compound, hurling fireballs and shooting lightning at the special practice dummy that had been set up here for mage use. He'd tried to get Harrowmont to see him - but no... to cowardly to even see potential allies!

He wondered if Loghain had such luck. Ha!

Speak of demons, that's a group of Wardens approaching! Lucien turned to the familiar warm buzz in his veins. "I just don't see why we have to be so underhanded _and_ act like his personal skivvies." Alistair whined.

"Maric had me do such things all the time." Loghain shrugged.

"What?" Alistair's eyes widened in shock.

"The Saviour King had to keep his hands clean of shady types. Even I can see that. Who better to take the blame should things go awry than one skilled like the Dragon Warrior?" Dyrfinna answered. Loghain looked sceptically at the Avvar woman. "What? I understood - you hold me in little respect for understanding."

"You have a pint of dwarven mead sloshing in your stomach. You were stealing very unsubtly the cubes of cheese and strips of smoked boar from my pockets for that damned hound... and you didn't know about coin less than a month past." Loghain answered.

"Must you bring that up?" Dyrfinna sighed. "And I was not stealing. You have no proof." Loghain looked like he'd been told that three grown men had run screaming from a spider from the look of complete exasperation that crossed his face. A small spider.

"You put your hands in his pockets!" Bethany gasped. Loghain looked sideways at the Lucien's fellow mage.

"You didn't see?" He asked.

"I didn't either!" Alistair was struggling to stop himself laughing, his shoulders shaking and his cheeks reddening slightly.

"See. You have no proof." Dyrfinna smirked.

* * *

Loghain and Lucien had a debriefing with the whole of their two groups in the dining room. Their tasks were set then. Find out who they actually wanted to support. Have ties to both the contenders, not only to stop assassins getting sent to them - it wasn't as if the Warden Compound was a secretive place, it was almost next to the mine shaft that lead into the deep roads and old thaigs.

Of course they'd make both of them promise the troops. Get these tasks of loyalty done - then it would be a simple task of going elsewhere while this was sorted out.

If of course, exterminating this Carta (which Loghain had looked into, and wasn't to be sniffed at - at least a hundred desperate fighters with apostates and other mercenaries disenfranchised with surface life enough to join them. Formidable and more worrisome than the darkspawn in his opinion. The darkspawn, as Dyrfinna mentioned often enough were little more than animals with weaponry, their most dangerous feature being the taint.) and fighting against the elite of Orzammar in a 'Glory Proving' sounded just as appealing.

"I say we go into our two groups again." Lucien mentioned. "That way if we get looked into with too much scrutiny they think there's a schism amongst the Grey Wardens about who to go for the throne."

"That could work." Loghain nodded in agreement. "I'll head the Dust Town group, you can sort out this Proving."

"You'll need people to help you. It's not like we can do both at the same time. But it's the commander that gets looked at. I stay behind and if any of our tattooed Wardens get called to fight tomorrow in the Proving we deny their involvement with the Carta."

* * *

Dyrfinna strapped the chesplate over her leather cuirass, the neck, shoulder, wrist and ankle guards buckled on as well as the silverite greaves for over her leather britches. They didn't fit well enough, leaving gaps on her legs and at her waist and sides - that was why the dwarven seamstress didn't want her taking the armour yet. But if they were heading into battle they would need stronger armour than leather. The gaps were mainly due to her height and musculature. They hadn't been made in mind for a woman of her size, possibly one of the children of Shartan actually. All of the female armour seemed to look more elven than human sized.

She waited, dragging the whetstone over her ancestral sword, her clan dagger already as sharp as it could be and her shield ready for being strapped to her left arm. Carver, Bethany, Alistair and Morrigan would be coming along too with the dragon warriors group. Archers deemed a bit useless in indoor situations.

It wasn't as if this would be an all out war in the streets, criminals, as Loghain had put it - worked in the safety of their homes and safehouses. They didn't indulge in the streets unless necessary.

There was apprehension in this task though. To kill a dwarf, she'd taken no such hesitancy when defending her clan from lowlanders, this should be no different. Sighing, Dyrfinna sheathed her sword in her hip scabbard, stretching down to loosen the plating over her left calf. Despite the healing and that she was a Grey Warden now, the muscle there was tender still.

"Ready to go kill innocents?" Alistair laughed nervously as she walked into the foyer of the Compound where most were waiting.

"I doubt they are. None of us can claim complete innocence." Dyrfinna shrugged. "So I have a question, how many of us have taken lives not of animal or darkspawn?"

"Templars." Morrigan started. "Are little more than animals." Dyrfinna looked the witch up and down, unhappy that she'd not chosen to shield herself in anyway from physical attack. It would be Alistair, Loghain or herself charged with keeping the two shaman unharmed due to the fact they each carried shields. But it was not a good prospect for an Ash Warrior. They were the siege weapons of the Avvar, tempered by Hakkon Wintersbreath to not feel pain as a normal warrior, the teachings of the dwarves passed in tradition through their generations.

"Some of them might be more than animals." Bethany murmured to whit Carver stared at his shorter twin, shock evident on his face. "I... er, our family might have once been attacked by bandits when we moved about though. So... yes."

"Even Grey Wardens get attacked by bandits a few times." Alistair rubbed the back of his neck between a finger sized gap over the top of his neck guard.

"So everyone here. Good." Loghain grunted.

"You look apprehensive." Dyrfinna tilted her head, trying to figure out why the dragon warrior was so worried.

"I'm always apprehensive before any battles. You never know if there would be losses on our side, you can't assume we'll waltz in there, do some light swordplay then waltz back out no worse for wear." He pursed his lips and crossed his arms.

"Ah, my courageous Wardens are ready. I just found out Warden Larochelle is a dab hand with a sword and dagger so she's just getting into some leathers." Lucien greeted them, flasks of blue liquid on strings in his arms. "Presents for my fellow Warden Mage." He declared handing them to Bethany. "And Morrigan if she needs them."

"Are you saying that..." Bethany turned her head to look at the witch shaman. "You're not a blood mage are you?"

"Pah! As if I would need to make a deal with a demon to use my powers! What pathetic fool would sell their soul for such ephemeral power?" Morrigan sniffled.

"That's standards, evil witch and she still doesn't like blood magic." Alistair snorted.

"She actually said blood mages. Not blood magic." Lucien pointed out. "And I tend to agree, nothing wrong with the magic, just the mage that did the demon dealing. Walking abomination bomb waiting to explode."

"Hmph, then you've never had a blood mage try to get into your head." Loghain rumbled.

"Ah, I almost forgot about that." Lucien smacked his forehead with his palm. "Fine. No blood magic for any of you and if either of you feel like it - no controlling people we like. Got it?"

"I don't _like_ the bumbling templar fool." Morrigan growled. "But even then I would not sell my soul for mere pain to inflict."

"I'm so reassured." Alistair quipped back.

There was a knock on the door to the foyer and Loghain opened it, sword drawn in case word had already gotten out about their visit to Bhelen and these were stupid assassins. That could be amusing.

"Yello Wardens. I've been sent by Bhelen to make sure every nook and cranny down in the hideout is cleared. And to free a friend of mine from them." It was the dwarf with the two axes. He tended to crop up often enough. "Oh... Rocky Brosca. Everyone just calls me Brosca though. Now put that sodding sword down. I'll chew it into nails."

Loghain looked down sceptically at his sword before sheathing it. "Holy Andraste - did Loghain follow a direct order? Hello Rocky - when can you move in? We'd love to have you in the Wardens." Lucien choked.

"Rather not if it's all the same to you. Got a sweet deal as my sister's bodyguard, specially seeing as it's Bhelen that she's married to now." He shrugged. "I'm Bhelen's reassurance that the Carta falls hard and that the coffers get well and truly cleared. So who's up for a bloodbath?"

* * *

Dyrfinna felt oddly inconspicuous following the dwarf with the bright red hair. Not that standing head and shoulders above every other inhabitant of the dwarven city was reason enough for people to look as they were walking.

She'd had to leave Asgrim with Thorvald and Lucien. According to Brosca Dust Town was no place for the animal - or any animal. Could a place be that bad?

Brosca lead them down a shady alleyway, causing all of them to put hands to hilts and pommels of their weaponry. "Ain't planning on offing your lot Wardens. Prince needs your support." Brosca chuckled.

It wasn't reassuring because it was getting darker, damper and the smell of blood, faeces and urine was increasing the more they went through the streets. "Welcome to Dust Town. Mind where you stand." Brosca eventually declared.

Dyrfinna was shocked at the abject squalor of it - almost below Orzammar with how far down they'd travelled. The only light was from the glowing runes, cracked most of them, but from what she could see buildings here were in horrid disrepair, the streets lined with dirt of no discernable origin. It stank viciously, making the woman wish for deadened nostrils. A ruckus caught their attention and they saw a group of warriors shove a woman out of one of the horrid buildings, carrying a squalling child out.

"Please! He's not a duster! His father's smith caste!" The woman cried. The warriors seemed to take no notice of her as one of them carried a red hot iron in his hand, the end of it bright red, the edges of it smoking. Then he brought it to the child's face, that backwards 'S' burnt into it's face.

"Keep walking. Nothing we can do about it." Brosca growled. "Bhelen is gonna put a stop to the noble hunts."

As they carried on through the disgusting, dark Dust Town more cries and children were branded. Dyrfinna was sure the sound would haunt her nightmares as Brosca informed them that while the average dwarf didn't care much about 'brands' or casteless people, the noble castes did. They would band in groups with their house warriors, get in their 'rough clothes' and troupe down here, branding the unbranded. "This has to stop." Bethany almost whispered, even in the dim, infrequent light it could be seen how pale the shaman was.

"I'd do terrible underhanded things to get this out of the world." Alistair agreed.

"If I were born here I would fight tooth and nail to not get branded." Dyrfinna was so sobered by it. It was one thing to willingly place tattoos on a person, with bone needle or the Chasind hot irons, - but these were children. No crime or want of them. She was so sobered she was knurd. In desperate need of the natural haze that life shrouded on everyone.

"Those that do die. And no-one takes a brand kid in when food is a luxury." Brosca growled again. "I suggest not making eye contact."

They kept moving at his direction stopping at a house almost in the corner. "Korth's throne." Dyrfinna breathed. Brosca had just picked up the hand of a dessicated skeleton, the finger carved with a blunt knife by the looks of it and shoved the index finger into a slot in the wall. "Welcome to the Carta. Home of anyone who dares try to better themselves - everyone here owes the debt of their lives to Jarvia, the head of the Orzammar Carta. Ya see... I might'a killed the last boss."

"Right. The painted lowlander and Alistair will protect the shaman from physical attack." Dyrfinna motioned, built in instincts kicking in against dying. "Carver up front as siege with anyone who can handle a bit of pain."

"Glad to be in the back then." Alistair smirked hesitantly.

"You have a shield and I've never even seen you palm a dagger." Loghain nodded. "So of course you're in back." He then unsheathed both a sword and dagger from his belt.

* * *

If it were possible, it was darker within until they reached the first runestone. The smell of urine and faeces was less, but blood and sweat was all pervading. "Password." A dwarf slunk out of the shadows, the backwards 'S' on his face.

"Death." Brosca swung his larger axe in an arc, hitting the password asker in the face, a wet crunch and blood splattering and the second axe swung to meet neck.

More dwarves attacked from the shadows. Dyrfinna readied her shield, the pain numbing battle adrenaline coursing think as she lashed out with the metal and leather banded shield, her sword in a flurry of sharp swings to hit the vulnerable neck and faces.

Loghain was quick even in his heavy plate, slashing and parrying with his sword and dagger. The shaman's magic lit and fizzed in the air, orange light and fire, the attacking dwarves screaming in terror as the orange light hit them.

One of the dwarves heads was cleft from his body by Carver, hitting the crude wall with a wet thunk.

A dagger went deep into her thigh and Dyrfinna bit back, screaming her warcry as she slammed her shield at the attacker, her sword following quickly through his neck.

She vaguely heard more wet thunks and turned to see eviserated bodies fall around the painted lowlander, her blades twirling and a self satisfied smile on her blood splattered face.

It was almost abrupt how quickly it stopped. Dyrfinna huffed, slumping with the adrenaline still burning, almost stronger since she'd been a Grey Warden. The bodies around her were less than flesh, rendered entrails and blood.

Blue light basked the tunnel, sighs of happiness as wounds were healed. "Nice moves tats." Brosca whistled low. "You got one of those sparklefingers here that can heal though - nasty serrated dagger still in your thigh."

"Huh?" Dyrfinna looked down and saw half the long dagger jutting in a bloody mess. She went to yank it out when she was shoved against the wall.

"You bloody ninny - don't touch it." The dragon warrior growled. "Mage. Here, I'll take the dagger out - carefully. You can heal."

Dyrfinna shoved him away. "I can deal with it!" She grabbed hold of the hilt, her shield dropped to the floor as she pushed into the wet warmth of the blood around the dagger. "Start healing now." She breathed. Bethany was already at her side, hand lit in blue and one of the shimmering blue potions at her lips, trails of it slipping down her chin.

Dyrfinna yanked, the dagger catching on small globs of her flesh, blood spluttering thick as it was freed. Bethany's blue light intensified and the feeling of ice being held on warm skin rushed through the blood, suturing together. "All done." Bethany breathed, taking another gulp of the blue potion. The light died down and the absence of it left it dark before eyes readjusted to see again.

"What is a ninny?"

Alistair laughed, wiping a handful of blood off his face. "Tis another word for fool. And fool you are - trying to remove the dagger." Morrigan snapped.

"Oh." Dyrfinna straightened up. "Then you are a ninny too dragon warrior. You could have pushed the dagger deeper still and nicked a more vital vein."

Loghain growled and Brosca chuckled. "Come on Wardens. I counted 'bout twenty here and I bet my left foot we'll get hurt worse than that."


	10. Flimsy Blue Thing

Author note: So going well? If you're lurking a short review '7/10 - funny in places, could have better grammar' or something like that would just let me know you're there. Hells, even the rating out of 10. I live off of my reviews, the energy from a single grain of rice and a drop of dew from a blade of grass - as every author should. (Jokes - chocolate, reviews and wine!).

And my muse (did I tell anyone her name is Madga?) is loving Orzammar and everything at the moment. She also got all horse-laughtery over 'Is She Really Going Out With Him - Joe Jackson' - because she thought of a game-canon story where Alistair had fallen for the Warden, went off and married Anora because Loghain was recruited and then she (who didn't reciprocate Alistair's feelings) and Loghain get together. You'll laugh yourself stupid if you have a listen.

Just for a point of reference 'Madga' has frizzy 'golden syrup' coloured hair and huge turtleshell glasses which are more like magnifying glasses, green felt waistcoat over a beige turtleneck sweater and long gypsy skirt of bottle green with black leather boots. Pink beads she make herself with papier-mache.  
And Magda flits to one idea, creates a whole world and paints, writes and speaks about it with such passion that I have to write it myself. Then she gets a new idea and despite not wanting to give up on the old one - places it like a stack of paper on top the old one. I sometimes pull the old sheet of paper from underneath to annoy her.

* * *

Dyrfinna had never fought people so desperate. One skirmish had come about from the dwarves jumping from stony alcoves in the tops of the walls - each with a leather strap between their hands. Strangulation wasn't a fun thing but a quick grab of a dagger and shoving it backwards into gut - seemed to end that.

The shaman blasted magic through the dwarves before Bethany commented that the dwarves seemed to be oddly resistant to her fire and ice. Even Morrigan agreed that the dwarves seemed to be oddly resistant to the entropic magics she wielded rather than commenting that it must be because Bethany was weak as a mage. Which of course was what everyone had expected and it caused a few blood splattered eyebrows to get raised.

"Why do you use your shield like a weapon?" Bethany asked aloud. Dyrfinna reckoned that was posed to herself as she hadn't seen the others that used shields to use it as she did.

"Is it not? A heavy pan or skillet could be used as both shield and weapon - so why not a traditional shield? Have you been hit on the head by a good shield blow?"

"Good point actually." Alistair tilted his own shield, as if looking at it for the first time. "I don't reckon a shield to the face feels nice. It goes against every bit of the templar training I had but it makes sense."

"Will you all shut it?" Brosca shushed them. "We're close to the jail cells."

He pulled a piece of metal, hooked on one end and a thin strip of a dagger - a 'stiletto' dagger. He knelt down and pushed the stiletto into the lock of the door in front of them, the hooked metal stick in above it. He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and kept his ear close to the handle.

Silence fell over them until all there was, was the faint drip of water, distant shuffling that could be dwarven or animal and the sonorous chink and click of Brosca attempting to pick the lock. A very audible click sounded and the door loosened from it's frame. Brosca stood back up, pushing the two implements into his boot before pulling his main hand axe from it's belt holster and kicking the door open.

The battle was short but bloody, mainly Brosca's axes and the magic of the shaman doing the work as well as a well thrown dagger from the painted lowlander when one of the dwarves tried to escape past the three shields barring the way out of the room.

"Leske!" Brosca took in a deep breath, huffing it out dramatically. "Oh thank you bloody Ancestors."

He bashed the pommel of his main hand axe into the lock of a disgusting jail cell to break it open rather than going to the trouble of picking it open. An overfilled bucket that stank of excrement and stale urine in one corner, a bucket on the other size filled with stagnant water, lumps of white floating on top were the only features other than dirt. He crouched down to the dwarf curled into a ball in rags. Brosca put a bloodied hand into greasy black hair and gently shook the head. "Huh? Oh fuck me... salroka!"

The dwarf looked halfway between scared and bewildered at the sight of heavy armed and armoured people telling him that he was free and to head to the royal palace of all places. Especially as those people looked to have had a good bathe in blood recently - their own and that of others. "Lets just say Rica came through in the end. A Prince - and Bhelen is making a personal army of casteless, he knows how skilled we can be with a good belly of food and proper armour. I've had the guards told what you look like so get going, you'll be safe there Leske."

Leske looked up at his obvious friend, tears almost in his eyes. "Thank you." He whispered, hoarse. Brosca grabbed hold of his arm by the elbow, helping heave the other dwarf to his feet and saw him out the way they'd come through.

"Now that's over and done with we have a bitch to gut. Did you see what she did to his feet? Her personal mark that - cutting the soles." Brosca gripped his axes tight. "Only one more room and I bet you there's a lot of traps around it. Anyone skilled in disarming here?"

"I am." The painted lowlander whispered. Loghain looked long enough to scowl at the woman as the two skilled in trap disarming took point, cutting tripwires with deft daggers, depressing pressure plates and removing lures and flipping switches - silently taking out the traps that Dyrfinna couldn't even see in this darkness.

"See any more Red?" Brosca whispered. "I think we might have them all done."

"Yes. I should think so." Leliana wiped the back of her hand over her forehead, shaking the sweat collected on her hand off to the floor.

"Just Jarvia. She's a crafty bitch so no dying guys." Brosca smiled in the very dark place, pushing the door open after he picked it open.

"Well well, our own little Brosca came to finish the job he started did he?" A woman with dreadlocked brown hair, standing with serrated dagger and almost barbaric sword was leaning casually on a pillar in the room - as if she'd been waiting for this moment. This Jarvia judging by the way Brosca's face was in a scowl. Her mouth was wide, yellow and brown teeth behind the false smile. "I'll make your teeth into a necklace!" Then the serrated dagger was thrown. The painted lowlander caught it with lightning fast reflexes, throwing it back before it was parried away mid-air by the barbaric sword.

"And keep that pretty one alive! I have plans for her!" The dreadlock woman shouted as a door on either side of the flickering light room they were in burst open, dwarves running out with weapons poised.

Dyrfinna growled and readied her sword over the top of her shield, waiting for that moment when the adrenaline would hit and a dwarf would be in the way of her sight.

She saw the painted lowlander almost dancing around, parries and thrusts with light footwork to not kill but definitely distract in this situation.

Alistair was fast behind her, keeping his shield on the defensive as he attacked the distracted dwarves.

Bethany kept to a corner, her hands eclipsed in the blue as she shot the light at each of them as they received even a small nick. Dyrfinna was up against two of the faster warriors, each in flexible leathers and carrying the most vicious dual weapons each.

Carver took the head off of one from behind and Dyrfinna shoved the top of her shield under the other's neck, effectively sending the bulky man flying head first into the wall with a sickening crack. Not taking chances she ended what life that could have still been hanging on with a sword downwards into blood covered neck.

She spun on the spot as the trap was released - the tip of her sword having caught on the hidden switch. Chemical burning filled the area where dreaklocked woman was, the volatile liquid it sprayed set alight by Morrigan.

Loghain and Brosca who had been attacking the woman at the time moved back quickly. Bethany putting out the fire that had caught on Brosca's hair with ice and the blue healing.

Jarvia screamed. The chemical stopped spraying but the fire still burned at her flesh. Loghain ended the woman with a dagger quickly across her throat. And it was... over.

"Where do we put the papers then?" Loghain asked, sheathing his weapons still bloody.

"In the books? Where else?" Brosca shook his head. He limped over to one of the side doors and whistled low. "Gold, jewels and the books. You might want to fill your pockets with some of this, Bhelen only wants enough that it doesn't _look_ like we took any."

"Quite sensible." Morrigan smiled, moving into the room and picking up a fine gold bangle, slipping it into the pocket of her leather skirt.

"So we kill people and take their stuff now?" Alistair pulled his mouth to the side.

"My sister would say 'they don't need it any more' but Miriam is a bit... skewed." Bethany reached into her satchel and pulled out the vellum with the evidence incriminating to Harrowmont on them. It was a good idea to have placed such items with the shaman, being outside of physical battle as she was.

* * *

Incriminating evidence placed in the books, gold and jewels (and anything shiny not nailed down in Morrigan's case - like a magpie that woman) stashed in pockets they traipsed back through the winding tunnels that lead out to the old Carta Shop. The 'face' of the crime ring, used to launder coin.

Laundering coin - now that was interesting. According to Brosca coin could be dirty, gained unfairly. But placing it in a legitimate business, using it to buy items of import and selling it (even for no 'profit' - which was an entirely different thing in which people bought things for cheap prices and sold them for higher worth items or more coin than they parted with) the coin that was received was 'clean'.

It hurt her head. Brosca winked at the shopkeeper as they were in the shop, bloody, dusty from the tunnel and most probably squinting due to the extra light within the room.

"Whelp, I leave you now Wardens. News'll get spread the Carta is gone, the guards'll hop down there to process the gold and stuff, find those juicy books - and Bhelen ascends to the throne. Nice and simple. Was a pleasure to fight alongside you all." Brosca smirked, yellowed teeth showing.

"They'll know the Wardens did it if we just walk the streets covered in blood." Alistair gestured at himself - he was pretty bloodied up, even the shaman had light sheens of blood.

"Use the back streets." Brosca shrugged. Then he slipped into the shadows, not a sound betrayed from his red-tinted chain he wore.

"Stealthy bastard." Loghain snorted. "Come on then. Baths are due for everyone and some poultices."

"I did my best." Bethany whispered as the walked the dark side streets, moving into shaded alcoves at the sound of people close by.

"I know you did girl, but even magic can't do better than some hot water and a poultice to the small cuts and bruises you just get." Loghain shrugged. Bethany beamed at the half-hearted compliment and Morrigan scoffed.

* * *

Safely and subtly they were back in the Compound, not a single soul having seen them come back. The grime of the day was stuck to them and Dyrfinna looked at the clock mounted on the wall. Nine bells in the evening. Had they been that long?

"Oh Maker! You lot stink!" Lucien said by way of greeting them. "Wash before dinner, the servants here made honey roasted nug with potatoes, carrots and there's a few jugs of mead and ale." He glanced behind himself at the dining room. "And plenty of cheese Alistair so don't you worry your fluffy little head."

Alistair narrowed his eyes at the shaman commander and Bethany tittered, placing the backs of her fingers over her lips. Carver looked over at his twin. "Something amusing?"

"Er... no?" Bethany gulped. Dyrfinna shook her head, it was quite heart-warming to see him acting the protective brother but it was going to limit the girl.

"Right. Baths." Loghain glanced at them all. "And we do stink."

* * *

Dyrfinna felt very nude in the washroom, despite the reedy partitions between bathing areas, runic light streaming into there, creating almost natural light from behind paper thin maiche sconce.

The air was steamed, the dwarves used pipes that went through stone heated from lava to heat water at the pump. Dyrfinna stripped behind her screens, sluicing in the cold water before wrapping a fluffy brown towel around herself and picking up the jug to go to the pump.

The copper baths had a two inch level of cold water in them, but the hot water needed to be jugged in from the manual pump. The line moved quickly, each of the Wardens eager to wash the drying blood, gristle, grime and noxious smoke that had attached to them in their less than savoury travels.

It was just to pull the screen over and Dyrfinna eased herself into the hip deep water, the water quickly murky as she scrubbed the sticker stains from her skin, taking care not to aggravate the pink line on her thigh where she'd had a dagger embedded. Ninny indeed. She knew what she was doing. It wasn't the first time a weapon with barbs had needed to be removed from her flesh.

"Oh Maker! My water is red!" Bethany shouted.

"Mine's brown." Alistair shouted back.

"Quiet both of you." Loghain rumbled.

Dyrfinna smiled, chuckling silently. It was sort of like her clan again. Reaching for the softly scented soap, honey and almond with oatmeal to scrub the dead skin away she sloshed another jug into her bath.

Finishing up she sluiced again over the grate in the floor, towelling with quick dabs over her skin before wrapping the towel tight around her chest. She pulled the plug out of the bottom of the copper tub, watching as the dirty water swirled out of the bath and padded wetly out, hungry like she'd never eaten before.

* * *

Warden appetites were not for the faint hearted. Korth give her strength this was the third plate of the gamy nug roast she'd piled and devoured, the mead and ale was pretty good too.

"Stop it." Loghain growled.

"Stop what?" Dyrfinna smiled, forking another mouthful of whatever creature this nug was into her mouth.

"My pockets are not the food stores for your hound." He rumbled.

"Then why do you keep food in them? My first husband did something similar, although it was his back pockets rather than side pockets. He is a shepherd, commanding ten sheephounds." She shrugged.

"I... habit." Loghain frowned. "I used to have a mabari. Adalla." He looked away and put another mouthful of the roast to his mouth, ending the conversation.

"So! How did it go?" Lucien gushed in the silence.

"We exterminated the Carta, we are alive. What else?" Morrigan shrugged, daintily twirling her fingers over the top of the glass of water she had.

"We got gold and some jewels." Alistair sighed. "You of course wouldn't mention that. Are you a dragon maybe? Hoarding it all in a cache somewhere?"

Morrigan sneered at him silently. "Oh Maker's sake - shut up will you?" Lucien slumped into his shoulders. "I've looked into this Proving by the way. We need four people, all warriors - none of us can be four legged or a mage though."

Asgrim whined under the table. "You'd get distracted by a ham bone mutt." Loghain smirked amusedly to the dog.

"I would say the dragon warrior, myself, Carver and Alistair." Dyrfinna spoke.

"Just out of curiosity Leliana, were do people like you get skills like you have?" Alistair mentioned, reaching for a pale cheese threaded with dark blue veins, crumbly as he cut it with the curved knife.

"And what is meant by someone like me?" Leliana pursed her lips.

"Oh you know. A Chantry sister for one."

"She's an Orlesian bard. Fought a fair few bardmasters in my time." Loghain interrupted.

"I am not!" Leliana pouted.

"Your bardmaster was in Denerim a few years ago, maybe you joined her? Caused a bit of havoc, stole the leathers you wear..." Loghain counted on his fingers and the painted lowlander got redder the more he said.

"Enough! Fine! I learn my fighting skills as a bard! But I repented from such a horrid lifestyle! I am a better person now!" She cried, slumping her forehead to table and heaving her shoulders. "The Maker forgave me, can even you Loghain?"

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "I'm no Maker. A man, and men hold grudges. You're... not the worst Orlesian I've met Leliana, and I much prefer having a bard on my side rather than against me." He sighed. "I sound like a blasted sympathiser now. Dammit all."

"Thank you. I am dreadfully sorry for the mistakes... nay - crimes of those I grew up around. But... thank you." Leliana heaved a big breath into the table before lifting her head, cheeks blotchy. She picked up her fork and stabbed a carrot viciously, eating it was a gulp.

"Dramatics at the dinner table. And here I though to be bored witless around the Grey Wardens!" Morrigan cooed, her voice cloyingly sweet.

* * *

The next sleep cycle in the underground city was harder than the first, Dyrfinna tossed and turned in the bed, haunted by the screams of the casteless in Dust Town being branded, the smell of their skin being burnt. Children - some even babies being stuck with the hot irons. Tiredly she grabbed a slippery blue robe, embroidered with the silver griffons of the Grey Wardens to cover her nakedness, padding out of the room.

It didn't help that she was hungry again too. A raid on the larder wouldn't be out of order would it?

Hurrying her footsteps, slapping on the cool stone floor and shuffling on the woven rugs she found a runic light in the dining room on, Loghain slumped on his own at the table, a glass of wine in his hands, cupped on his lap but his head bowed.

She should have carried on walking but seeing such an obviously powerful man so still, such obvious pain on his features was so... Imhar's laughter she was damned for caring for the feelings of a lowlander. Even one spoken of in ballad. "You are unhappy." She said plainly, sitting herself next to him under the single light, the rest of the room shrouded in darkness.

"What made you guess that?" He drawled lowly, fingering the rim of the wine glass. Dyrfinna reached out, gently taking the glass from his grasp.

"I have been married twice, have a son. Do you think I am simple?" She soothed, the glass left on the table with a dull glassy thud, the wine sloshing up the belled sides.

"I think... I'm going soft, getting old - past my prime. It never occurred too much before I happened to be around so many young people." The edges of his mouth faintly lifted before thinning back into a grim line. "Did you not see how long it took me to figure out there was a bard amongst us? Used to be able to sniff them out like a bloodhound."

"I hardly think you are old." Dyrfinna lowered her head so she could look him in the eye as she said it, honeyed eyes meeting almost icy blue ones. "You have a grace much like a mountain cat in battle, strength that only Korth could give, tempered in the fires of war as Hakkon Wintersbreath could only hope to do, there's empathy in your ways - Uvolla Herself would be gladdened by the sight of it. I do not think you are old, or past your prime as you put it. You reached your prime and continued to stay at it."

Loghain snorted a soft breath from his nose. "Being nice will get you no-where Dyr."

"You think I have to be nice?" She smirked. "I have no need of being nice. It does not aide people to be nice when the truth aides them more." She went to move off the chair, her stomach pinching in impatience for food when her hand was caught, roughened calluses pressing into her own.

"Stay here." His voice softened, cracking at the want of company and having to admit it. "Don't make me say please."

"I am merely getting some food. Is there anything you wish from the larder?" Dyrfinna breathed, her heart skipped at the warm contact in her hand and she closed her eyes. Willing herself not to break down. Sigfrost's pelt she could still feel warm arms around her at night, the loud snore of Svien. Three more years she should have had. Life was cruel.

"I'll come with you." Loghain tiredly blinked, clicking his back as he stood, walking in companionable silence with the Avvar woman.

At the larder Dyrfinna could almost feel the space between them in the taint warming her blood as she picked up the sweet underground apples, dried dates and nuts covered in hardened honey. As they sat back with the whole bottle of the red wine between them, two glasses and the food gathered from the larder Loghain spoke once more. "Could you care to explain why I'm still here? Why I couldn't die from the damned taint like a normal person."

"I did not either. There has to be a certain... inner strength to a person perhaps." Dyrfinna lightly shrugged, taking a bite from the yellow bulb of a fruit, the juices exploding and flooding her mouth, a trail dripping on her chin. "But that is not why you are awake though. Tell me what keeps you from sleep."

"I've always been a light sleeper." Loghain took a hard bite from the honeyed nut and date bar, chewing and mulling for a while. "Screams. Screams I couldn't do anything about."

"I see the scrunched face of Thorarin, just born... taken away and a laughing dwarf holding a hot iron to his face for being born." Dyrfinna looked morosely at her glass of wine, cupping it in one hand and taking a large gulp.

"Your son? I see my daughter. Anora will always be about six in my mind, skinned knees and pigtails, sitting in a book in the library." He smiled wistfully. "It's a shame they grow up."

"The grow up because their parents do a good job of it." Dyrfinna leaned forward, closing her eyes. She wouldn't see Thorarin grow up if this was her life now. Fighting the monsters of nightmares, doing horrid acts to have armies march on the darkspawn. Her hand idly reached for the whittled bead on her thin braid, fingering the wooden cut in remembrance. "I shan't see him... not for a long time... will I?"

"It's hard leaving them the first time." Loghain nodded in understanding. "Maker, I left Anora with Celia enough times in Gwaren while Maric needed me. I missed a lot of the woman she started growing into in my absence."

"Then history will repeat itself on another. Thorarin is left with my mother... my husbands. The summer festivals would have passed now. The snows returned. I wonder if Svien has found a new wife or if he still mourns. I hope he does not." She smiled despite herself. If she couldn't be there then Dyrfinna could hope someone else could try to look after her son.

"Why would he? You're a... a beautiful young woman. Of course your husband misses you, I doubt he'd just replace you so easily." Loghain's hand met hers as they both reached for another of the yellow underground apples. She looked at the brief touch before both their hands drew away as if burnt.

"No. He is no longer my husband, leaving my clan forswore all my ties to them. I have... nothing. I hope he does not mourn me, I hope he finds a new wife - one that can bear him children. Five years and I bore none." Her jaw clenched in unhappy memory of that.

They spoke into the night cycle of the dwarves, Dyrfinna explaining how she was married at fourteen, as was custom, to Erlend, at seventeen winters having her son Thorarin, her first marriage ending when she was nineteen winters when she remarried to Svien - supposedly for what should have been eight years. Loghain hadn't batted an eyelid at her late age for bearing her first child and told her about his late wife Celia, the mother of his daughter Anora.

"You love her greatly." Dyrfinna finally spoke as Loghain finished his tale, bittersweet in his telling.

"I did." The edge of his mouth tugged up before falling again.

"We hold love in our hearts for many people. I will always love both Erlend and Svien, each claiming a part of me that is separate and new, different but with the comfort of having always loved and been loved." Loghain nodded as she spoke, agreeing his silent way. "But we are both to be fighting in this Proving come ten bells tomorrow... or today. We should rest. Sleep well - if you can Loghain."

She stood and Loghain did too, both slightly shaky on their feet from having finished the bottle of strong sweet wine. His hand reached onto her shoulder, the slippery fabric bunching under his fingers as he steadied himself and the robe parted ever so slightly. "Maker's teeth - you'll freeze to death. Why weren't you wearing anything under that flimsy silk thing?"

Dyrfinna tugged the robe closed. Only a small inch of her chest and thigh having been exposed but it was enough to have proved her nakedness beneath the robe. "I sleep in the nude. I put this 'flimsy silk thing' on in case of bumping into anyone." She shrugged, her cheeks flushing hot.

"Oh." Loghain pursed his thin lips, looking down toward his right. "Good night then - Dyrfinna. Sleep as well as the darkspawn and everything else will let you."

They parted quickly after, each to their quarters. Dyrfinna kept on glancing at her door as she tried to drift off into that illusive sleep.

* * *

Loghain had managed some sleep, haunted by memories he thought long locked away of girls who slept in the nude. His body thought he was old and young at the same time. Damned thing.

He dressed quickly in his scrubbed clean armour, making sure his weaponry was fit for the Proving.

"Up and at them Wardens! We should have been awake at least ten minutes past!" Lucien yelled down the hall as Loghain opened his door, a bustle of linen robes and his staff hitting closed doors as he passed.

Dyrfinna opened her door across the hall, her leathers including belts and jacket all on. He still saw that ridiculous silk robe... that had left little to the imagination and despite not having much in the way of curves, her shoulders and hips broad - those legs were very shapely and those br-... _not thinking about it! She's less that half your age! _

* * *

Dyrfinna had blearily eaten her way through the milky porridge for breakfast, her sleep having been stolen from her last night completely. She grabbed one of the iridescent potions from the larder, sweet and fizzy, almost pure energy from sipping and sipped it as the Wardens made their way to the Proving Grounds.

"So I've been looking at this line up and entered us last moment last night. The first bout we have is one on one, and the first warrior has to continue to the end. The second should be two on one, us having the disadvantage. Then another one on one followed by the team rounds." Lucien explained as they walked. "The first team round is a duo match, two against two, the second is four against four."

"We've had battles where we've been outnumbered by more than four." Carver snorted derisively.

"Yes, but they were mindless darkspawn or we had shaman." Dyrfinna answered him. "Or those without formal training, fights to the death. It is harder to knock your opponent out than kill them."

"And it's illegal to kill someone in a Proving." Lucien added.

"Bollocks." Carver pursed his lips.

"I think Alistair should do well enough - it's whether he can last all five of these rounds." Lucien sighed.

"Wait me? You were there when Duncan conscripted me, I didn't win then and I doubt I will now." Alistair looked sheepishly at the sword at his hip.

"Have you seen the bags under their eyes?" Carver gestured at Loghain and Dyrfinna with his thumb. "They'll fall asleep in the middle of the bouts."

"I'll do it." Loghain growled at the younger warrior.

"I am an Ash Warrior, battle runs in my veins!" Dyrfinna added.

"You never explained that." Alistair mentioned.

"It is the training passed through the Avvar generations since Luthias Dwarfson and Scaea. The dwarves would call it a berserker but we adapted it from anger to drawing it from adrenaline instead - in battle we feel minimal pain." Thorvald answered.

"So that's how you managed to handle that dagger to your thigh." Bethany said, a tone of understanding dawning on her.

"Do either of you think... you could teach me?" Carver pulled his lips to the side, annoyance that he felt inadequate and had to ask for someone to teach him something.

"I could." Thorvald shrugged. "If you are willing of course."


	11. Deshyrs & Fans!

Author note: So the characters are starting to lead the story quicker than I had anticipated in ways of plot. Thankfully Magda thought of a few spanners for the works - which the characters then agreed were quite good.

Multiple switching POVs, hopefully each should be clear enough and the atmosphere I hoped to create apparent throughout.

Much love to every reviewer I have - your words fill this author with happiness - I'm a happy bunny author!

* * *

It was an argument that wouldn't have been out of place in the Hawke household. He and Miriam were always at each other's throats. But this was almost amusing - watching Teyrn - no he wasn't a Teyrn any more - and a surprisingly hard-headed woman have a face-off.

Carver watched as the Proving Master did at Loghain and Dyrfinna - both claiming they could be the first warrior in the bouts. Carver was sure blades could get drawn over it.

"Did you actually get any sleep last night?" Loghain rumbled, spittle collecting at the edges of his mouth.

"Did you?" Dyrfinna seethed back.

"I'm used to not sleeping."

"So am I!"

"You're a bloody ninny!"

"So are you!"

"Children!" Lucien chimed. "How about we just have the Proving Master choose? Or flip a coin?"

Both the warriors scowled toward the mage commander, honey and ice blue eyes being narrowed. Lucien fumbled into the pocket of his robes. "Loghain, heads or tails?"

"Why does he get first choice?" She demanded. Lucien deflated.

"Heads, seeing as it's my bloody face on that coin you're holding." Loghain sighed. Lucien spun the copper coin in his hand before it landed on the stone floor, a copper scowl in relief facing upwards. No more arguing then - Loghain won the coin toss.

"Loghain will be our first warrior then. Dyr can go in during the first team round and Alistair and Carver during our last." Lucien shrugged, bending at the hips and knees with a faint popping of joints to pick up the coin.

"Hey - I feel all arbitrary being in the last two." Carver shrugged at the Avvar woman. Bethany stared at him, shock evident on her features.

"That was surprisingly grown-up of you." She remarked.

"I'm growing up." Carver shrugged again.

* * *

Leliana secured their seats in the stands, low down to see the bouts but close to the boxes of Bhelen and it was no surprise that Harrowmont had sent his second Dulin Forender to take his seat. Brosca and the Leske dwarf from yesterday were with Bhelen in flank, a pregnant dwarf with Brosca's flame of hair seated with more women in the box seats.

Bhelen smiled at the Warden group, a quick nod in their direction before he turned his attentions back at the flame-eaters, jugglers and bronto-tamers performing as an opening act.

Lucien sat next to her, passing paper bags of popped corn, salted and buttered he'd bought from a vendor for the remaining group that were watching. Morrigan passed hers back to their commander but she, Bethany, Lucien and Thorvald dived right into them, fingers getting sticky. How long had it been since they breakfasted? Leliana frowned at the thought of losing her figure to all this gluttonous behaviour.

Lucien snorted. "You burn it off, that's why we're pretty much always hungry." _That was as if he'd read her thoughts..._

"Deshyrs and Fans!" A voice boomed through a horn mounted on it's own box, the Proving Master standing within, a sheet of vellum in front of him. "I hereby open this Proving in honour and memory of our late King Endrin Aeducan! You've seen the sheets of warriors and placed your bets - now watch as Orzammar's finest face off in the most glorious of sports! I give you on the right Adal Helmi - supporter of Prince Bhelen Aeducan!" A cheer erupted in the massive stadium. And on the left, Mainar Varen - supporter of Lord Pyral Harrowmont!" And another cheer, this one less loud erupted. No doubt the word of Harrowmont's 'implication' with the Carta having gotten out.

Leliana watched as the performers cleared away, the two dwarves looking no bigger than ants from even their close seats.

They were quick, the Helmi woman overpowering the warrior Mainar easily. Even over the roars of the crowds, the clang of metal hitting metal and even the cheering and barking of their own group there was a distinctive chuckle when Mainar folded to Adal. Leliana noticed Brosca was laughing, Leske even grinning.

Leliana wondered if there was a story behind that. The bard in her yearned for the stories behind decisions and even the small reactions told much more than the average person let on.

* * *

Loghain pottered, waiting for his first bout to be called when the squire ushered him into the holding cells. The Wardens would be up soon enough.

Dyrfinna was sitting calmly, her whetstone dragged almost reverently over her sword, narrowed honey eyes set in that burgundy band every so often glancing over at him. He shouldn't have called her a ninny again. But it was true. Why should the woman have to push herself when there were others to do it? Ninny.

Alistair and Carver were sparring with fists, warming-up Loghain supposed. The men - he supposed fighting darkspawn made you a man no matter your age - were both quite skilled, Carver hitting harder but Alistair more dexterous, guarded.

It was like looking in a mirror of when he was younger. The ex-Teyrn sighed. Almost like him and Maric when they didn't have to be anything other than themselves. One of them jovial, the other with a permanent scowl.

Loghain shook his head to clear the thought but looked back at the two sparring. He looked a lot like - perhaps lighten the skin and if he grew his hair out. He stood when called by the squire when it dawned on him.

But it couldn't be? Could it? He could barely remember the name of the bastard child he'd had secreted in Redcliffe to protect Rowan's memory. And what would the lad be doing in the Grey Wardens? From caught ends of conversations the lad had been in the Chantry, orphaned since about ten or nine.

He shook the thought from his head. It was an old man trying to see similarities where there weren't any. Failing Maric's son was a hard hit to take, he didn't need to see ghosts now or imagining a part of his friend was still around.

* * *

Lucien glanced briefly at Bhelen when 'Loghain Mac Tir of the Grey Wardens' was called out by the Proving Master as standing in support of Harrowmont. A smile ghosted on the Prince's face and his fingers were pent under his chin.

So it wasn't a ploy to see if the Wardens were going to betray his trust. This was the plan all along - have the Wardens working to defame Harrowmont with the Carta problem, make them look pretty foolish for supporting the wrong man and having every dwarf in the troops given to them against the Blight feeling damned useful - supporting Wardens that very obviously needed the help.

Nothing like looking like a right dolt to make the people you needed feel needed.

Loghain stepped up the the Warrior Caste Seweryn, inclining his head down. He definitely looked like a representative of the Grey Wardens, the proper tabard over his armour, worn, serviceable weaponry - sharp by even the glint at their distance.

Lucien stuffed another handful of the popped corn in his mouth as the horn was blown for the bout to start. Loghain dropped into a lower fighting stance and caught the dwarf of his shield as he charged at the ex-Teyrn.

The throw was almost brutal, Seweyn landing on his weapons with a crunch that silenced the whole stadium. Two elves, apostates hiding in the dwarven city by Lucien's reckoning ran into the arena - straight to the motionless dwarf.

The female elf held her left arm up with her thumb pointing upwards. "He's okay deshyrs!" The Proving Master called into the horn. "Seweryn concedes to Loghain. For our next bout..."

Lucien tuned out to the prattle around him, watching Loghain head back to the holding cells. He hadn't gained a single hit but worked out his shoulder - strained but still moving from that truly awe-inspiring throw.

* * *

Dyrfinna looked up to see the dragon warrior return to the cells before he unbuckled his shoulder guard, pulled his tabard off over his head and unbuckled the side of his chestplate.

He shrugged the heavy metal casing off and winced as he worked his fingers into his shoulder, kneading the muscle there. If she'd been in a good mood she might have offered to help the lowlander in his obvious pain. But he persisted in calling her a ninny - a fool.

But Sigfrost's pelt... did he intrigue her! There was so much more to him than the ballads told of, a soul that was bleeding, hurting, needing salve to calm. And it was one thing to hear a ballad but it was another thing to meet a subject of one. He seemed to carry every minor flaw or problem with him - much like herself in that respect. Almost self-flagellation in the way he'd just needed someone to talk to last night.

It had taken a lot of him to admit that, and a lot of herself to admit she needed to connect to someone else, be more than the sum of her parts.

But Dyrfinna was a stubborn woman, he would push people away even if they tried to befriend him. Build those walls. If he could cope that way there was nothing stopping her from acting likewise.

Eventually Loghain was called again and he started putting his plate armour back on, finishing the look with his tabard over the top tucked into the thick leather belt.

Something was wrong with how she felt so connected to the lowlanders around her. The taint in her blood calling and warming to be around them. She needed and despised the way she needed it.

"Hey - you alright?" Alistair tilted his head at her and she drew the whetstone sharply down her ancestral sword.

"I should have been out there." She answered.

* * *

Loghain wasn't sure if he was ready to go against two opponents, not that it had stopped him when the need had arisen before.

He could see Bhelen in the stands, a calculating smile on his face and it boiled his blood to feel like a pawn in a game. The two dwarves he was against, Myaja with sharp blades and Lucjan with a heavy maul looked at him and the girl's eyes widened.

The horn blared and he readied himself to his own estimations on how the dwarves would attack, and years of estimating opponents showed when Myaja was quick off the mark, her sword and dagger with the flats of the blades already aimed for the minute gaps and weaknesses that all armour had. He batted her away with his shield and waited for Lucjan's maul to get close enough.

Then he could have counted down because the maul swung to his midsection. Loghain quickly stepped forward into the dwarf, rapping him at the temple with the hilt of his sword. A look of trepidation crossed his face before Loghain's shield smacked him back into the sand of the arena.

But of course Myaja didn't take that standing still, of course she wouldn't. Loghain had deemed the move necessary to take the maul out of the equation. He twisted round and smacked Myaja with his shield, the leather clad dwarf sent flying.

Loghain had used his shield as a weapon before, but it was only recently the thought of using it as such had clicked again in his brain. That bloody Avvar woman. Myaja coughed as she landed.

"And the winner is Loghain of the Grey Wardens! The Ancestors seem to be smiling on Harrowmont today deshyrs and fans!"

Loghain calmly walked back to the holding area.

* * *

Lucien couldn't help but cheer. No blood spilt and two bouts down. He couldn't help but thank the Maker for giving him Loghain as a Warden. Still no sign of that steak out of the sky yet but you couldn't ask for everything.

The bouts continued quickly after that, Loghain back on the sandy arena after three more, this time against a silent sister called Hanashan.

There was something a bit barbaric about cutting one's own tongue out. They'd had members of that order in the Grey Wardens before and he'd had to learn basic dwarven sign language before the woman had been transferred to Weisshaupt. Fantastic with those blades of hers.

That bout had been longer but again the ex-Teyrn was the winner, a cut on his chin which the elven apostates dealt with in the middle of the arena. It was something to see magic used so openly. Almost heart-warming.

A half-time was called and the postings of the winners so far put up on the chalk boards that dwarven women in scant clothing carried around through the stands.

Loghain and his 'second' Dyrfinna were paired up against Wojech Ivo and his 'second' Velanz. Dyrfinna would most likely be very pissed off to see herself denoted as a second so there was some celestial being that Lucien had to thank that the Avvar woman was down in the holding cells for Harrowmonts supporters.

He finished off the popped corn, scrunching up the striped paper bag and tossing it into the bin at the end of their stall.

"Think we're doing all right then?" Lucien asked the Wardens present.

"It's blood sport! There might have been a death if not for the apostates down there!" Leliana gasped. "Andraste truly will have to guide our fellows."

"Or Korth." Thorvald muttered.

"Indeed, or Korth." Leliana nodded. Lucien rolled his eyes - what had incensed him to recruit Leliana in the first place? A willing volunteer? Someone he was sure could fight when he saw the scars on her hands even in that Chantry robe? The fact she hadn't batted an eyelid when he told her she'd be fighting alongside mages?

The half-time performers cleared out of the arena as the first bout was called. "Deshyrs and fans! Please put your hands together for the Wardens returning to the arena! We bring back the famous Loghain Mac Tir and the Ash Warrior Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar! Both Wardens are raring to tear the spines out of the competition!"

"Did he said her name right?" Bethany whispered to Thorvald.

"He did." He nodded.

The crowds seemed to erupt at the information given to them. There was something about the Avvar and the dwarves - he would have to look into it again. Lucien looked over to Bhelen who looked slightly pale now. Really? Loghain pretending to stand with Harrowmont was alright but an Ash Warrior? Oh Maker's breath...

* * *

Dyrfinna readied herself as she strode out alongside Loghain to the applause and cheering. The smell of the sweat and blood with the glassy sand and cooked meats from high in the stands.

The experience was so... observed. The feeling of hundreds of eyes, the dwarves watching her every movement was overwhelming.

The horn blared for the bout to start when they were opposite the two dwarves. They both had helmets. Damned Imhar's luck!

Loghain took point, and she naturally moved to attack the smaller of the two dwarves. A sword slammed pommel first into her side and she growled at the dwarf, shoving her shield by the tip at the top to force his helmet off.

Velanz stared for a moment before he got his bearings back. She had to give him credit, to fight someone so obviously larger than himself and growling - that took guts. The hilt of her sword met his nose with a crunch and blood streamed out of the nostrils, the bulbous thing flattened.

Velanz threw every bit of his weight at her as a last ditch attempt and got knocked onto the floor, spinning and falling with a spray of reddened sand.

Loghain had toppled Wojech just before she'd knocked Velanz out and silence filled the stadium when everything erupted, screams, whoops and clapping deafening.

"And that was a genuine Ash Warrior in action deshyrs and fans!" The Proving Master shouted through the din in his horn. "The Wardens move onto the final round!"

Loghain nodded to her and they went back calmly to the holding cells, waiting for which warriors they would fight next.

* * *

Bethany was nearly screaming with the atmosphere and heat of the crowds. It was oddly thrilling, exciting even to see the fellow Wardens doing so well. Their task was merely to enter in Harrowmont's name but who could say that this Pyral Harrowmont would question their loyalty to him now? Dust Town was a disgusting place and she was all for Bhelen lessening their plight, eradicating it even if such a thing were possible, but the thought of assassins trying to get them wasn't good either.

It wasn't their place to pick a side, Lucien had said as much - Grey Wardens kept neutral which was why they were having to be so duplicitous. The next bout was almost over too quickly when Piotin Aeducan and his second Frandlin Ivo won...

A brief intermission was called so they could have a breather. "You never told us that the dwarves... you know. The Ash Warrior thing." Lucien muttered in a harsh whisper to Thorvald over her.

"You never asked commander." The Avvar smirked, shrugging his shoulders. "And Dyrfinna is one of the finest of us I have seen."

"No shit. I haven't seen too much of her since Lothering but... I'm wondering whether we could stop the Blight with just those two like little siege engines through the horde." Lucien laughed, raking a hand through his long black hair.

"The dwarven Berserkers are much fiercer, we would do well to recruit one to the Grey Wardens." Thorvald stuck his tongue in his cheek, the green horn on it bulging.

"The rapturous applause was... unexpected." Leliana breathed. "The dwarves have a lot of respect for your people."

"And we them." Thorvald answered her.

"Shh! They're coming back into the arena!" Bethany shushed, watching how the four warriors came out of the stone and metal doors to raucous cheering. Her heart seemed to thump with the roaring crowds.

"The Ash Warrior! Set her on them on her own!" A woman behind them yelled.

"Get Loghain against them all!" A man next to the woman shouted.

"That's my brother!" Bethany whooped, pointing at the younger scowling black-haired warrior of the group.

"Deshyrs and fans! We come to our final bout, the grand finale, the main event you've all been waiting for! I introduce to you Wardens Loghain Mac Tir..." He paused for the cheering. "Dyrfinna An Nikolina!" The sound almost deafened the young mage and a chant started up, 'Ash Warrior' it demanded. "And their fellow Wardens Alistair and Carver!" The cheering was less but even Bethany could see how much Carver smiled, revelling at the applause.

"These four Wardens stand for the so far blessed by the Ancestors - Lord Pyral Harrowmont! And on the right of the arena we have Piotin Aeducan! Once called the 'horns of the army' by the late Trian Aeducan and cousin to Prince Bhelen Aeducan!" More whoops. It wasn't people standing on a side - this was glorying in something amazing to the senses. The heat of competition, bets having been made and not caring for winners or losers as long as they could see it all. "Standing with him are Frandlin Ivo, famously winning all but one Proving as well as the warriors Roshen and Olaniv! Give them all a big Orzammar cheer! Aren't they all deserving of it?"

The crowds were almost screaming, everyone incensed by the rallying of the Proving Master. The horn blared and silence almost covered the stadium like a blanket.

The eight opponents squared up to each other, the scrape of of metal as weaponry was unsheathed.

Bethany's breath stilled and there were warcries yelled.

She couldn't keep her eyes trained on one warrior - it was almost as deafening as the crowds to hear them facing off. Dyrfinna charging Frandlin Ivo. Loghain pushing shield to shield with Piotin Aeducan. Alistair swiping his sword flat on Olaniv's head.

Carver... her brother knocking the crossbow wielding Roshen clear off her feet into the sand.

Frandlin Ivo got Dyrfinna on the jaw with his maul, making the Avvar woman stumble to the side but she remained upright, her shield swinging viciously upwards under his chin. He was knocked onto his back and she hurled her shield down at him, seething.

Alistair finished Olaniv, tripping him with the tip of his sword to land on his front and Loghain roared, some superhman strength shown as Piotin Aeducan was shoved into the sand.

The audience that had watched in silence started a chant together 'Wardens'. They stomped and clapped in unison, getting faster until it broke into something more than deafening.

Lucien beamed like a cat that had the cream or a father learning of some amazing feat done by his child. Bethany stuck two fingers in her mouth, whistling. Thorvald was bellowing cheers and Leliana whooping.

The only person not even showing a single bit of emotion was Morrigan, coolly sitting and observing them all with a raised eyebrow.

* * *

Dyrfinna clutched her jaw when they were back in the holding cells. "Sigfrost's pelt!" She moaned.

"Let me see." Loghain demanded. Dyrfinna clamped her jaw tight, narrowing her eyes as they watered. The adrenaline of battle was gone now, replaced by the tiredness that ached down to her bones - and her jaw killed! "You're a bloody ninny you know - now open."

Dyrfinna went to object to being called a ninny again when a metallic finger was shoved in her opened mouth, holding her cheek to the side as it probed the back tooth that was in pain. She growled as best was possible when a finger was in her mouth, succeeding in tasting the vinegar and oil used to clean the metal and dribbling blood down her chin. Which of course made her angrier.

"Anyone got pliers? She's cracked a damned tooth." Loghain removed his finger, wiping it down his tabard without ceremony.

"Can't Bethany or Lucien heal it?" Alistair asked.

"Not a cracked tooth." Carver pulled his mouth to the side. "There's nerves and other things in teeth, it's not like a leg bone. Father made sure we understood the boundaries magic could be pushed to. Why be careful when you can just get healed by your twin or father?"

"Sensible man. Now is someone getting pliers? I'd also like hot water, salt and clove oil."

Dyrfinna watched, seething as the two young warriors rushed off. "It'll be fine." She wiped the bloody spittle off her mouth and chin.

"Now who's being a grumpy old goat?" Loghain quipped, grumbling. Dyrfinna's eyebrows shot up and she laughed despite the stabbing pain in her jaw.

* * *

Lucien found his winning Wardens in the holding cells still. Loghain hunched with pliers in his hands, one foot placed next to Dyrfinna's leg, Alistair holding hot water in a jug and Carver with a small potent smelling oil in a glass vial. "Open and try not to scream." Loghain said calmly and Dyrfinna opened her mouth.

Loghain leaned in and put the pliers in her mouth, one hand resting on her shoulder. There was a crack as he wiggled the pliers and a sickening pop as he pulled them out, an off white tooth covered in blood. "Uuuugh!" Dyrfinna snapped her mouth shut.

"Clove oil and hot salty water." Loghain put his hand out and Alistair poured a glass of the water out, Carver dropping a level of the oil into it before handing it over. "Rinse and spit."

Alistair turned red, trying to stifle his laughter with one hand. "What's so damned funny?" Loghain handed the glass to the Avvar woman who obediently took a mouthful, swishing it in her mouth before spitting it onto the floor behind her.

"Spit." Alistair giggled.

"Maker's breath." Lucien groaned.

"Oh - just pulling a tooth." Carver greeted him.

* * *

Dyrfinna kept on poking her tongue on the gap in her back teeth where the gum still tasted of blood.

As they were walking out of the Proving Grounds a short red-tinted figure slipped out of the shadows. "Hey Brosca." Alistair greeted the dwarf.

"Nice work. Bhelen would say so himself but he has to keep himself out of the main picture. Didn't realised Dyr here was an Ash Warrior, should'a realised. They're already talking about how Harrowmont was blessed by the Ancestors for your standing for him guys. Anyway - I need to skedaddle. Catch you some other time."

Then he was gone as quickly as he'd arrived, a small chink of something dropped before the absence of sound glared at them. "Huh?" Lucien bent and picked up what had been dropped. "Get that Ash Warrior properly outfitted by way of a good smith, it doesn't do to have someone with dwarven skills in weak armour. I hadn't expected a win but you did well. Harrowmont will trust you explicitly. Burn this note and do not read aloud..."

Lucien's hand quickly engulfed the note in flames and he opened the small leather pouch. "Maker's breath that has to be five sovereigns!" Alistair remarked, leaning over the shaman's shoulder.

* * *

Back in the Compound Lucien saw to it that the warriors went for baths. They were sweaty and stank of that sour sweat that wouldn't do while they had washing facilities. There was something to be said for cleanliness.

"Commander!" A chiming accent broke his chain of thought from having a bath himself. "There is a dwarf by the name of Dulin Forender to see you..."

"Thank you Warden Larochelle. Will you stand in the room with me as we speak?" The dwarf was shown in, the same that had given them the pamphlet and note about entering for Harrowmont in the Proving.

"Good work out there. I knew I could trust the Wardens to get that done right." He nodded in greeting. "Lord Harrowmont extends a formal invitation to dinner tomorrow night to speak on the throne and your predicament with the troops for the Blight."

"Thank you my lord, we simply wished the better dwarf to succeed in his bid for the throne. How many are invited into his most gracious estate?" Leliana answered for him. Lucien smiled to himself. Bard or not, Leliana had a way with words that made the gruff if groomed, dwarf smile.

"All of your order if you wish it. Is there any fare that would be preferable?" Dulin answered.

"We will all be attending, nine Wardens and a mabari hound. If you could account for some mead, wine and ale as well as some of the blue nug cheese, our group should be happy with any offerings your lord could bestow upon us." Leliana nodded her head in respect.

"Then the dress code is formal." Dulin bowed. "I shall await your attendance at seven bells in the afternoon cycle sharp."

When it was safely assured that the dwarf had left Lucien slammed the palm of his hand on the desk, shaking the papers and ink bottles upon it. "Damn tomorrow. I wanted today and to get out of Orzammar while the Blight hasn't overtaken Ferelden."


	12. Let Sleeping Dragons Lie

Author note: Gah! Reader love for this story makes Magda way too happy. She's been rambunctious - flying about her airy studio flat, neglecting her herb garden as she's been making oil paintings and smutty scenes for later in the story. Naughty muse!

That's a question actually - do the readers like it rated T or would they prefer it went to M later with the scenes - or a separate story with alternate chapters where smut would be involved? Do tell me or Magda will do as she pleases. She tried to push it here actually.

* * *

The Wardens seemed to be in a flurry about having a formal dinner to attend. Dyrfinna was clueless as Leliana flustered with her stipend, wondering if the dwarven seamstresses could make something suitable for her. Sketching what sort of clothes she thought would befit each of their builds.

"You do realise we have plenty of formal wear here already?" Lucien sighed.

"We do?" Leliana brightened. "And shoes?

"Most probably, I've never looked." Lucien shrugged.

And so it continued - and Bethany joined in. The men all looked on as the painted lowlander and shaman started going though the clothes in the Compound wardrobes, dresses with ruffles and pleats, each of them deep blue with silver coloured trimmings and with a griffin embellishment somewhere.

"Am I the only one here completely missing the point?" Lucien laughed hesitantly.

"But!" Leliana's mouth went into a small 'o'.

"It's a meeting more or less, we're asking for a treaty to be honoured so if Harrowmont or Bhelen get the throne we get our troops." Loghain grumbled.

"Dyr! You must like dresses no? Something beautiful to wear?" Leliana turned to her. Dyrfinna was suddenly pulled from her seat by a surprisingly strong bard and a blue dress held up to her shoulders over her loose beige tunic.

"The only dress I have ever worn was my wedding dress, and even then it was not this frivolous... or revealing." She grumbled as the painted lowlander held portions of the fabric to her hips and stretched it over her breasts to 'see the fit'. The bard stilled at her admission.

"I saw just the thing. One moment please." She rushed off, flopping the ruffled dress onto the desk, her feet kicked high in her sprint to and from the wardrobe, bringing a midnight blue dress, long enough to reach her feet, cut slim with a wide sash of grey draped over the hanger. "This should suit you no?"

Hesitantly, Dyrfinna took the dress and held it up. The shoulders would have to be let out but it was something she could do with her little sewing kit bought in Lothering. But it should more or less cover her from neck to ankles, the sash going around her waist? "Do I have to put it on?"

"Please do." Leliana nodded.

She kicked off her boots and put one arm inside her tunic to pull it off when Leliana stopped her. "Not in public - there's a dressing room over there." Lucien covered his eyes and Dyrfinna rolled hers, sweeping to the room pointed to.

There was nothing shameful about the naked body. Nevertheless she complied, going into the boxy small room lit by the singular runic light, pulling the heavy curtain to hide herself as she slipped her clothes off and hurried the dress on. Something told her this was important to Warden Larochelle.

She was wrong of course about the shoulders, it seemed to fit nicely there although was baggy down her chest and waist, snug to her hips. Some alterations - taking it in rather than letting it out. She picked the grey sash up, soft and forgiving, folding it in half before neatly bringing it around her waist and fashioning it flat to hang down the front. The singular griffin on it sitting roughly at her knee height. She pulled the curtain back. "No. It is too... there is something off about the look." Leliana pursed her lips, cocking one hip out and folding her arms, one hand on her chin. "Turn around."

"What is wrong? I would prefer to wear my usual attire." Dyrfinna grumbled, turning about ungraciously.

"Why not - she's a warrior and the dwarves respect her... type?" Lucien remarked. "Her usual clothes with the Warden tabard, held with a belt. That would be what the men are wearing so why not Dyr?"

"No dress for me then." Dyrfinna smirked. Leliana seemed to deflate and waved her back into the dressing room as way of saying she could change back.

"It is the blue. The colour clashes with that tattoo. Do you think make-up would cover such a thing?" She heard the painted lowlander sigh outside the curtained off room.

"No." Thorvald huffed. "You would not cover something that conveys meaning to you so why should we?"

"Don't get involved Leli, it shan't end well." Lucien sighed.

* * *

Bethany was jittery about having a noble dinner to attend. In all her wildest dreams she'd never imagined it, her mother may have been an Amell, brought up nobility but being a mage was something most people hid away. Then joining the Grey Wardens - she'd assumed that the Proving they attended would have been the highest brow event they'd have, speaking to these people high up for need of recruits and men - like Bhelen. Doing something like this... was something she wished for so badly growing up, Miriam and herself drawing into the late hours the dresses they'd have worn if they'd been brought up by their grandparents. Each trying to outdo the frills and ruffles they'd assumed Orlesian dresses that noble girls would wear.

And now, Leliana was pinning a dress around her, remarking on how lovely her figure was, how she was destined to wear this dress. Bethany felt almost like a princess in the blue and silvery grey, her hair coiffed and held with a silver pin with a griffon on it.

The look was completed by the Warden's Oath which sat warm metal into the dip between her collarbones meeting. "I do wish I could alter it so it was yours forever, but this will have to do no?" Leliana stuck her tongue between her lips as she put the last pin in and stood. "Give me a twirl mon ami, let us see how it flows."

Bethany twirled, smiling as she say the woman in the mirror - looking not unlike a noble lady would. "Hurry up! It'll take half an hour for us to get to Harrowmont's estate and it's six bells already."

Bethany poked her head out of the curtained off dressing room to see that everyone else was already dressed, leather britches shined, boots polished and tabards laundered. It even looked like Leliana had managed to get Dyr to put her hair up as it was in a high tail, her fringe down and that braid hanging over her ear.

Her breath stilled when she caught sight of Alistair though. Maker's breath! He was so... there was this clean, shaven look he had, the front of his hair brushed up and those hazel eyes twinkled in amusement as he was speaking to her brother.

Tentatively, she stepped out of the dressing room, making sure to point her toes in the high heeled shoes, pushing her hips right so they rocked as she walked. Just like the bard had been teaching her. Alistair looked briefly over at her and his mouth curved into a smile. Her heart fluttered at the small show of acknowledgement - something she shouldn't let Carver see.

"Look how lovely she is!" Leliana stepped behind her, gushing.

"You look... gorgeous." Alistair blushed and Carver noticed that, his eyebrows raised before his mouth set into a line, his eyes narrowed and his brows down. Damn you Maker!

"My sister cleans up remarkably well for an apostate 'farm girl'." Carver tried to put it jovially. Bethany had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. There would be words. It wasn't as if she'd become an overprotective sister should Carver find someone he liked.

"The loveliest apostate 'farm girl' I've met." Alistair shrugged. Bethany's mouth parted, too shocked to even make a squeak when Carver could clearly be heard clenching his teeth.

"You meet many?" Her brother growled.

"I hear bickering!" Lucien chimed. "Oh now don't you two look like little heartbreakers!" He grinned, opening his arms to gesture at Leliana and herself.

Dyr glanced over before going back to her conversation with Morrigan. The witch wasn't going with them all to the estate, not being a Warden and scoffing quite loudly about having to dress up. So she was having the run of the Compond in their absence. Lucien had debated leaving someone to watch over her but Leliana had already said nine Wardens would be attending with a mabari. It would be rude to not show up.

* * *

The Wardens ate fruit and vegetables before heading out, it would be rude for them to act like barbarians at this Harrowmont's dinner table. Dyrfinna quite agreed, no need to act like barbarians.

They were greeted very formally at the estate and she marvelled again at the white marble of the Diamond Quarter, the fine carving of stone with golden metals embedded in blocky designs. The dissonance between here and Dust Town was appalling. How could there be such a schism in the way people lived? It was her understanding that lowlanders were very different in their lifestyle to the Avvar but they didn't live in the same city. And... the branding. It was so wrong.

They were lead by the page into the dining rooms, a grey bearded dwarf sat at the head of the table, quietly sipping his wine. Dyrfinna creased her brow as she was lead to in one of the closest seats to this dwarf - obviously the man they were to see. She was just a Warden - surely - ah - Lucien was lead opposite her and Loghain sat next to herself. The others were allowed to sit where they may and Asgrim curled up in the corner with a big bone with a hock of meat still on there.

Such a good dog, obedient - even if he had woken her up from one of the best nights of sleep she'd had as a Warden - as it had been free from darkspawn.

"Greetings." Harrowmont smiled as they were settled. "Your part in the Provings was indeed fortunate, my own warriors having been coerced into non-participation."

"We did what we thought best for the city of Orzammar." Leliana spoke cordially.

"Very true." Harrowmont smiled. "And to have the legendary Loghain Mac Tir and an Ash Warrior on my side, my - the Ancestors couldn't have given me better fortunes."

Dyrfinna smiled, it was a warm feeling radiating from chest to toes. "Thank you my lord." Lucien answered for them. "No doubt you have heard tale of our predicament regarding the Blight and our unhonoured treaty? We-"

"I have heard." Harrowmont cut the shaman commander off. "And rest assured that when I have ascended to the throne you shall get your troops. But we are to eat and drink in celebration of our victory Wardens."

As if on cue the servants seemed to mill around, placing food on the long table and moving back silently. Bottles of wine and steins of mead and ale were placed around the open plates.

"Only drink the wine, it's still got a cork in." Loghain muttered into her ear. Dyrfinna nodded subtly and waited for Harrowmont to take a plate before she started putting food to plate. Cheesy potatoes, roasted vegetable and braised nug with lichen bread on the side plate with a covering of thick salted butter. It seemed nug was the main meat source to the dwarves and yet she'd not even seen hide nor hair of the elusive animal Paragon Varen had discovered was edible.

"Would you have any battle plans regarding the previous Blights?" Loghain asked. "The Warden records are thin and the kossith dragon that is the Archdemon will need taking down." That had been a worry too - it was all well and good getting troops but a dragon could get airborne and out of range except to archers.

"Some portable ballistae would be our best bet Warden Loghain." Lucien said, clearing his throat. "And surely the dwarven smiths would be proud to make such useful implements for this war?"

"Indeed." Harrowmont agreed.

* * *

Loghain kept watching for that sneaky hand trying to get into his pockets but it didn't happen. It wasn't sure if he was happy or not about that.

He felt as if his attentions were being dragged in a lot of directions, glancing as casually as he could to see if there was anything of Maric in Alistair - if indeed he was of his friend's loins. The matter hadn't been addressed.

Making sure the Orlesian bard was well within his sights at all times - nothing like a snake in the nest to make one aware of everything.

Everyone else slipped under his radar - other than watching Dyrfinna's hands just in case. Bloody Avvar woman. "If I may ask such a question." She asked. Loghain unwittingly waited for something to crash and stop what he thought she was going to say. "Why is there a battle for the throne?" Damn and double damn.

"A good question." Harrowmont smiled. "You are the Ash Warrior from the Provings."

"I am." She nodded.

"Then let me speak plainly. The late King Endrin was a great friend of mine, in fact I was his chancellor and advisor. His children however - none are fit to rule. His eldest was unfortunately killed by his younger sister in a plot I am sure that Bhelen set up. They were all unfit to rule as it was, but Bhelen most so for having been the youngest." Harrowmont raised his glass. "But he made me promise that Bhelen would not ascend to the throne and so I am in this position. Trying to take the throne myself."

The room was so quiet he was sure he would have heard a pin drop. "I see. Did the sister not wish the throne herself?" Lucien broke the silence.

"She was exiled to the deep roads. When I become King I hope to have her body brought back to the Stone for a proper burial. And if I may be candid - this is the main reason I have asked you here."

"I do not follow." Lucien sipped his glass of wine.

"There was a rogue agent - probably of Bhelen that has managed to get personal accounts of mine with the Carta. With this black spot I am... not going to be seen as a good King for interacting with the lowest of the low of Dust Town. It has always been accepted that Bhelen interacted with brands, he was never heir you see so why change his ways now?"

"We had heard such rumours Lord Harrowmont, which is one of the reasons we entered the Provings, to show the Ancestors still favour you." Dyrfinna smiled. Loghain was utterly shocked at the outright lie from the woman. "But are you leading this conversation somewhere?"

"Never one to chase the subject around are you Avvar?" Harrowmont smiled indulgently. "It is a simple matter. I have some maps of the deep roads, which lead to the last known places of both the exiled Princess and Paragon Branka. Find their bodies and bring them back to the Stone or if they yet live have them swayed to follow my cause and it is doubtless that I will lose this bid for the throne." He shrugged his shoulders. Loghain dropped his fork and then cursed himself for it under his breath. Assassins would be preferable to trying to sort out the dwarven political mess.

"May I see these maps?" Lucien asked, diverting attention.

"Is there something wrong?" Dyrfinna murmured to him as Lucien and Harrowmont spoke.

"The deep roads. It wasn't a place I planned on returning to." Loghain muttered back.

"Ah." She moved back to sit upright, stabbing a vegetable with her fork.

* * *

Loghain threw his darkest clothes on as was possible, a balaclava thrown over his head to cover his features. No doubt they were going to be watched closely by Harrowmont now and he needed to speak to Bhelen. See if getting an anonymous knife in the back would work against the damned Harrowmont and would solve this problem right up.

"Going somewhere?" He spun on the spot to see the thrice damned silken robe before he saw the tattooed face of the body wearing it.

"Out." Loghain grumbled, not wanting to divulge what he was doing in case.

"Wait a moment. Your balaclava shows some of your hair." She crossed the small distance between them and tugged the woollen thing down his head, warm fingers poking hair under and briefly touching his neck.

"Not asking what for?" He asked, unsure why he'd even continued the conversation further.

"I let sleeping dragons lie." She shrugged, smiling and that bloody silk robe moved so... damn it all! Loghain was glad the dark leathers he'd found that fit him were so tight. Thanked the Maker for it. But her hand was still on his shoulder, he pointedly looked at it and it was removed very quickly.

"I'm sorry." He blurted as he turned again to leave the Compound. Hopefully with the runic lanterns getting shut off for the night cycle he'd get to Bhelen in complete shadow.

"What for?" The tone was amused and he gulped, wishing he'd not said a thing.

"Calling you a ninny. You're not, but you're a stubborn so and so, guessed I was just trying to keep you from burning out when others could very easily take up the slack." Loghain grumbled, feeling a weight on his shoulder. He turned yet again to see that hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you." She smiled. Loghain removed the hand.

"Well, if I don't come back make sure the ninnies we're stuck with don't mess up." He then made sure he was gone before he let his mouth run away with itself.

He could only hope now that Bhelen would send someone to sort out Harrowmont and he should have been done already.

* * *

Lucien groaned, sitting up from his desk - the maps for the deep roads were a vital patch he was missing but he still didn't want to go back in those tainted tunnels until his Calling. Even then he was hoping he'd just find a noose and hang himself. It was a cowardly opinion but many a Grey Warden had chosen to die that way rather than the traditional die in battle in the deep roads.

Damn - he hadn't told the new recruits any of this yet. As far a they knew being a Grey Warden was sensing that taint, immunity to its disease and the hunger. That might have to be resolved soon enough. Twelve years was a short time but the Blight had shortened the thirty he was supposed to have had - he might be lucky if the Blight was ended in the time he had left, but sometimes Blights lasted hundreds of years.

Lucien opened the side door where the knock had come to find a completely black figure with icy blue eyes on show that warmed of the taint in his blood and a short red-haired figure. "Loghain and friend?" He asked - the first figure couldn't have been any other if height and those eyes were anything to go by.

"Greetings again commander. Brosca." The dwarf said in way of greeting. "Just popping round to speak to this cloudhead actually - when I bumped into his shadow outside the Merchant Guild."

"Should have kept to vacant shadows." Loghain grumbled. "I've seen Bhelen by the way."

"And yet as Alistair would say - you sound like someone kicked your puppy." Lucien waved the duo in. "I'm making a guess of bad news?"

"We're still going into the deep roads." Loghain sighed, pulling off his balaclava and shaking his black hair out.

"Damn." Lucien sighed. "An explanation or-"

"I'll fill you in salroka." Brosca shook his head. "His Princeliness wants you to bring back Paragon Branka in his name, or get her to side with him if she still lives. And his sister - if she's sensible and alive will want what's best for Orzammar, if she doesn't you can persuade her or _persuade_ her."

"I suddenly feel very dirty." Lucien shivered for effect.

"Well having an Ash Warrior in the Provings in Harrowmont's name was a shitty move. They're broken even again in the votes. It ain't budging, one step forward then another back. This'll be the deal breaker though Wardens." Brosca shrugged. "Best be on my way though. Have a good one."

The dwarf slipped out into the shadows without another sound. "Sneaky bastard." Loghain rumbled.

"I could say the same thing of you. Bumping together in the shadows? It almost sounds like something from a sleazy romance novel." Lucien grinned, despite learning they definitely had to go into the deep roads or possibly lose what they'd gained so far in being so duplicitous with the contenders for the throne.

"I wasn't being sneaky for the sake of it." Loghain answered him, ignoring the comment on sleazy romances. "Anyway - I'd start sorting out everything were I you, we need supplies, something that won't scare from darkspawn in case we don't just stumble over two corpses conveniently on the way in. And two mages for that warding spell. We might end up having to sleep down there and I'm not hedging our bets on all walking out."

Then the ex-Teyrn bowed his head, walking out of the study. What an odd meeting. Lucien rubbed a spot of tension on his head. Maker's breath now he had to get a bronto sorted, dried supplies and water. Then of course there was the fact he really shouldn't take Morrigan down there seeing as... well the taint and he didn't want to incur the wrath of Flemeth. Which meant he'd have to leave at least one Warden with her because it could be months...

At least they'd be killing darkspawn was the only good thing about it. Those darkspawn they slaughtered wouldn't be heading up to the surface to help the bloody Archdemon.

* * *

Dyrfinna was amazed at how quickly they were ready to head out or rather - down... into the deep roads. Their shaman commander despite the fact he couldn't pit a tent was efficient at organizing things.

They were leaving Asgrim, Morrigan and Thorvald in Orzammar. Everyone else seeing as they were proficient in fighting with weaponry that wasn't limited by how long arrows could last were going to be going.

Alistair, Lucien and Loghain all looked to have the most trepidation over it. Lucien had paid so their armour would be finished quicker and she put them on to get used to their weight as she trained.

It wouldn't be good to be unlucky and trip or something equally 'ninny'-like and die when it was just good planning and training that would save her.

Everyone was out in the courtyard of the Compound, training and honing skills. Morrigan and Thorvald were relentlessly making poultices and lyrium potions, bandages and gauze, health potions, that fizzy stamina potion...

"Would it be in good planning to make poisons?" Leliana asked, swiping her dagger at her straw stuffed dummy she was attacking. Lucien grunted as he hurled another fireball at his specifically designed one for shaman use.

"No. Kill the bastards, we don't go crippling darkspawn." He huffed, changing to lightning before he raised his hands high and a block of stone formed in the air - thrown at his dummy, the dummy swinging back on hinges before popping back up on springs.

Dyrfinna wiped her fringe back, hoping to cool her sweating skin but finding no such luck in this Korth damned heated city! "Eh... you guys the Wardens?" A booming voice demanded at the gates of the courtyard. Dyrfinna looked over to see a dwarf in plain clothes, a great beard plaited down to his navel and all his hair was a wild whiskery red, his eyes bloodshot and nose squat in his face.

"We might be." Alistair quipped at the drunk.

"Don't get snarky with me boy! I'll rip your sodding spine out and chew it like a toy!" The drunken dwarf gave the gates a good rattle, chuckling. "Only joking but seeing as your lot are the only cloudheads in this Ancestor forsaken place you're obviously the Wardens."

"He's so astute, can we keep him?" Alistair laughed.

"Is there something you wanted or have you got an argument going with our gate?" Lucien wandered to said gate, standing in front of the dwarf with his arms crossed.

"Well, got the courage to come here so might as well say it. I'm the Paragon's husband - that one you're heading into the deep roads for." He looked down at his boots. "And I kinda know were she was heading and what for."

"Well out with it dwarf." Lucien snapped, not in the mood. "And this had better not be in jest, I had heard she took her whole house down there so I'd hope she wouldn't leave someone like her husband."

"Yup, left me high and dry an' I been trying to get some sodders together ever since to drag the old girl back." His eyes glinted as he smiled. "Figured if you wanted the information I have though you might let me run down there with your lot."

Lucien looked shocked from her position. Loghain stepped up, sheathing his weapons. "Three questions then. One - your name. Two - any skills. Three - if you are skilled why no armour, every damned person with a dagger has some leather leggings on or a chain vest over their clothes. What happened to yours?"

The dwarf chuckled. "Nice and direct, love it. Oghren of House Kondrat and you better sodding well believe it cloudhead, berserker, used'ta be in the army until well..."

"Well?" Loghain's eyebrow was raised.

"Well if you had heard of me all you'd a heard was how I piss it up and butcher children. Second one's not true, that boy was old enough to hold an axe in the Provings, he's old enough to accidentally die in the Provings." Oghren nodded as if agreeing with himself.

"You are one of the famous dwarven berserkers?" Dyrfinna chucked her shield down and her sword was placed in her hip scabbard.

"Yup."

"You want in on coming to these deep roads, you can prove it." Ogrhen's grin was almost worth of being called beaming at that.

"He could be lying... an assassin." Lucien warned as he opened the gates.

"At worst he's lying about knowing where Paragon Branka was headed, this man his at best what he says he is." She pointed out. "Now in the sparring ring Oghren O Kondrat - if you are indeed a berserker you could handle to go against an Ash Warrior one on one."

As she moved to the sparring ring she removed her chestplate, greaves and gauntlets, down to the underpadding and chain before she shucked the chainmail off and moved into a fighting stance in the ring, fists balled and ready.

Oghren sauntered in and looked at her without fear, his face reddening. Good sign. Dyrfinna laughed, shouting out a warcry as they met.

Two fists met her stomach and she twisted around, hooking the dwarf's neck in the crook of her elbow and slamming down onto the ground. Oghren flailed in the hold before a boot hit the back of her head. She growled, lifting and bashing him down on the ground again.

Oghren was laughing the while and slipped out of her hold, speed unknown to drunks in standing to ball his fists together and punched downwards on the small of her back. Dyrfinna flattened out rather than resisting, rushing from the ground to shove the dwarf down with her shoulders on his legs, tumbling him over her back.

He huffed as he was down on the ground again and Dyrfinna went to fall with her elbow poised at his chest when he rolled. She landed on the elbow and a boot connected to side, shoving her into the dirt. Oghren stood, laughing but bowing.

"Sodding great."

"You fought well and not once a grimace of pain." She laughed back, standing and dusting herself down. "Now if you excuse me, I have bruises that will need healing if we are to go to the deep roads tomorrow. I look forward to fighting alongside you Oghren O Kondrat."

"What happened just then?" Lucien muttered to Thorvald. Dyrfinna looked up to see that everyone in the courtyard barring Morrigan who was making poultices still had crowded around the sparring ring, standing on the wooden fence beams.

"Oghren proved he is a berserker." Thorvald shrugged.

"And that means he's joining us how?" The shaman asked.

"Berserkers find it difficult to lie, their emotions worn pretty much on their sleeves." Dyrfinna explained, pushing past the shaman and picking up her armour from where it had fallen. "And Oghren is a fine berserker. Make him a Warden if you must but outfit the man, give him a weapon - he will join us in the deep roads as a valuable ally."

"I still don't understand why he hasn't got armour and weapons." Lucien grumbled.

"You didn't hear mage-boy? Sorta killed someone in the Provings." Oghren laughed. "Been a while though since someone called me a valuable ally." He was almost bent double when he said that, he wiped the spit from his lips with the back of his arm.

"We have dwarven armour in our armoury that should fit him." Alistair shrugged. "So why not? He toppled Dyr over, and I do kind of want to see how he tears darkspawn apart - even in the Wardens we've always wanted to get more berserkers."

"True - and technically we only have Dyr with those skills." Lucien put a hand up to his forehead, sighing. "One Joining Ritual coming up. All to get in the dining room for it after baths and dinner. That includes you Oghren, if you're coming into the deep roads there's the chance of getting tainted and I so prefer not to do our Joining down there if it's all the same. So welcome to the Wardens. Now go wash."

"Eh, he sounds like my father." Oghren grunted, scratching his chin under the voluminous beard as he chuckled to himself.

"I happen to be an Ash Warrior too." Thorvald pursed his lips. "A scouting ashen one, but one nevertheless."

* * *

And Oghren passed his Joining without even passing out or convulsing, which confused Lucien to no end. "It's those damned liquors he ingests, must have some sort of immunity to noxious substances." Loghain shrugged.

"Don't worry yourself 'bout it sparklefingers." Oghren shook his head at the shaman commander.

"You know he wasn't supposed to spit the first lot out either." Alistair smirked. "Our carpet will forever be ruined." He mocked great pains at it, his arm dramatically draped over his eyes.

* * *

Carver had been meaning to speak to the ex-templar all day. Of course he'd never gotten a moment for some privacy until they'd been washing. He cornered the blond as he was sorting his hair in the mirror, the room otherwise empty.

"I want to speak with you." He said by way of announcing his intent.

"Go ahead." The man shrugged.

"You must realise by now my sister... sort of has a crush on you." Carver's shoulder sagged. "Just don't hurt her okay? If you do..."

"Pulverisation? Loss of vital parts of my body?" Alistair turned around, a smirk on his face. Which boiled Carver's blood. How often did this sort of thing happen to him?

"If you Blighted well hurt her I'll switch your balls with your eyes, throw you into the deepest darkspawn filled pit I can and -"

"Okay okay, very bad - got it. But I won't hurt your sister, I didn't even realised she _like liked_ me - I mean... I had this inkling but she's really sweet. I couldn't hurt your sister if I tried, not that sort of person."

"Good." Carver nodded.

"So you're going to be alright with me if Bethany does like me and you're not joking? Wow..." He looked down. "Do you... know how to... to woo? Am I saying that right?"

"Are you saying?" Carver's left eyebrow raised in question and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh Maker's breath you're bloody serious. I'm not telling you how to _woo_ my sister. Figure it out or ask a woman how they'd prefer to be _wooed_."

And with that he plodded wet footsteps out of the washroom, not happy with how that conversation had gone. There was supposed to be more threatening and more dying pledges to be the best man for his twin sister. Still - he found out that Alistair... oh he couldn't stop laughing in his head. Woo!


	13. Into The Deep Roads

Author note: The general consensus for this story in PMs and reviews seems to be an M rating. So if you have little eyes I'll warn you beforehand in the note above but it's not going to be gratuitous, tasteful hopefully with a bit of steam - it should work better that way for this story.

* * *

Dyrfinna kept an eye on the creature deemed to be 'bronto', the height of a horse but filling up all the space and three times the width, thick hide and tusks protruding around a whiskery mouth - and it was laden with dried supplies, water, all the potions and poultices they could ever wish for and their bedrolls.

Each of the Wardens put their helmets on, affixing the runic lights to the tops and one of their chest. They had spares in case of breakages but it was going to be dark, horribly damp, infested with darkspawn and smell worse than Asgrim when he found the fox droppings on their journey to this underground city.

Thorvald waved them goodbye at the gates before they closed. "Korth's strength!" He yelled as the great stone doors were slammed shut.

"Sigfrost's knowledge you could end the Blight without us brother." Dyrfinna whispered, the dark surrounding her, the complete blackness of it was so despairing. Their runic lights flickered to life and it took a few moments for them to get their bearings as Lucien unfurled the map.

"Right. We have a sloping mine shaft that heads down diagonally for two miles before we even get to Aeducan Thaig the easy way - the bronto isn't going to manage that if we plan on hunting down this exiled princess." He traced the path on the vellum with his finger. "But Oghren said that the map of Caridin's Cross will only help us so far on our hunt for Paragon Branka too. First we have to hope there'll be no digging to get there. Second Paragon Branka may have gone further into the deep roads, she's after the Anvil of the Void and there's no-one who knows were that got hidden."

"We're wastin' time just standin' here then ain't we?" Oghren shrugged in his Warden armour, a two handed axe strapped to his back. "And I'm gettin' all tingly with the darkspawn so lets get moving."

"We shall find Branka." Dyrfinna pursed her lips, unsure why she'd said such a thing. It was much more likely they'd find Paragon Branka as a pile of bones.

"Warms me heart to hear someone say that." Oghren grinned, the light on his helmet casting the curl of his lip almost black on his beard.

* * *

The first setting up of camp in the deep roads was terrifying, you had to hope the wards would even work on the darkspawn sensing the Grey Wardens. Lucien had told them that was why they'd had so many losses at Ostagar - because the darkspawn sensed them too - aimed for them like beacons.

Bedrolls were unfurled and gotten on top of rather than in, still in full armour with weaponry lying right beside each person. "We are going to be sore in the morning. Or what I assume will be morning. You can't really tell down here can you?" Alistair announced to the lot of them.

They still hadn't encountered darkspawn, but Dyrfinna could feel them, almost crawling beneath her flesh, like the wet dripping that surrounded them more than the darkness was their blood. It was almost painful, making her senses flare up to be on edge almost the entire time.

Lucien and Loghain kept up just in case, keeping their eyes trained on the darkness, immutable and screaming of taint. The two men sat on opposite sides of the deep roads, Lucien on the left to the direction they were travelling in, leaning on his staff and brief twinges marring his face every so often and Loghain on the right side, his face unreadable.

* * *

Dyrfinna screamed, hurling all her body weight through her shield and twisting her sword to stab downwards into the vile neck of the darkspawn, illuminated by the yellow light atop her helmet and the eerie red of her chest light, splattered by blood.

She sensed another of the monsters, changed her grip on the pommel of her ancestral sword, and yanked the sword out, spinning on the spot to hack at the side of a hurlock, the clang of metal on metal reverberating up her arm almost with a fizz.

Oghren roared, the sound almost bloodthirsty and his axe cleft the hurlock in twain before he twisted behind him, throwing the axehead through a genlock face. The laughter of the dwarf echoed around the fighting, his axe making light work of any enemy in it's wake.

Dyrfinna glanced up briefly to duck as a head came hurling toward her "Sorry!" Carver yelled. Dyrfinna grunted in acknowledgement as the blade grated the chainmail on her legs between the plating, pummelling her shield down on the darkspawn until the bones crunched in, ending it.

"Get back!" Lucien yelled and through the haze of adrenaline Dyrfinna surged though the darkspawn to the commander as he and Bethany lit the tunnel up in flames. The darkspawn came screaming toward them inflamed, the three Wardens with shields bouncing them back into the inferno before the sound was just the roar of flame rather than the guttural moan of the horrific creatures. Lucien twirled his staff back into place in the sling around his back. "All done - onwards!"

"Bloody taskmaster." Oghren grumbled, shaking an arm off his axe.

"Does anyone need healing?" Bethany tentatively asked. There were a few shaken light beams but one bobbed up and down.

"Could do with some." Alistair groaned. "I think I tore something in my shield arm." Bethany rushed over to him and a blue light lit over the tunnel, basking the corpses in spooky unnatural shadow, blood seeping onto the floor.

"Hey Hawkling number one - you ain't gonna be a berserker saying sorry mid-battle." Oghren grunted.

"Will you quit calling me that?" Carver seethed. "You don't call Bethany Hawking."

"That's coz she's a sparklefingers. She's sparklefingers, that commander is the boss - get used to it Hawking or I'll think a something much worse." Oghren shrugged.

"Did we have to recruit that bloody dwarf?"

"Did you not see him in battle?" Dyrfinna posed to the young warrior - who was not doing well in the joint training of Oghren and herself in the arts of feeling minimal to no pain in battle.

"Do you have to remind me?" Carver moaned. So far he'd been the only one in the surviving Grey Wardens from Ostagar and further who wielded a two handed weapon and the Avvar woman supposed he must feel redundant when Oghren clearly was a veteran with the weapon in his hands while the young warrior had yet to reach his peak.

"Bickering is for children!" Lucien chimed.

"Then I'm a bloody child then, aren't I mage?" Carver snapped.

There were groans from pretty much every Warden except for Oghren who guffawed.

* * *

"Welcome to Aeducan Thaig then Wardens." Lucien gestured at the huge cavern they had entered, a long time since their last encounter with darkspawn. "Now this is supposedly the last known location of our exiled princess and Brosca managed to drop a note into my maps about looking out for traps. So Leliana - keep your eyes peeled."

The painted lowlander moved into the scouting position of their group, her hands on the hilts of both dagger and sword on her belt and her light atop her head swaying from side to side as they passed fine but crumbled buildings, the signs of battle evident even in their limited light as blood caught the glow, shining back with a matte darkness against lighter stone.

"Hmph, someone came through here." Loghain gestured at one of the corpses propped up against a building, a genlock with it's throat slashed open. "Could be hiding in any of these buildings if she's still alive."

"I don't sense any darkspawn nearby. We could fan out..." Lucien looked over to the bronto trudging behind them faithfully. "Right. Bethany and myself will set in the centre of the thaig, everyone else split will into twos and grab one of our flares. Should one go off we'll set off our own flare and we're all to rush toward the first one as safely as possible."

They found a fountain with stagnant water in the base, the bronto happily lapping it as if it were fresh spring water when the shaman commander decided it was the best place to set if any. "Right - grab a flare, a few matches and a waterskein, if we find the princess alive I want to make sure she's going to stay that way."

"How are we splitting up then?" Carver glanced down at the berserker dwarf, the hope evident on his face that he wasn't to be paired with him.

"Right, keep on forgetting I'm actually the commander rather than constable. Alistair and Dyr, Loghain and Oghren, Leliana and Carver? That should keep the bickering to a minimum. Bethany and myself will try to make our dried supplies taste a bit nicer for your return - get to it!"

The pairs organised so the ex-Teyrn and the berserker were headed in what should be the merchant and smithing quarter, the ex-templar and Dyrfinna were headed toward what might have been the residential and market district and the ex-bard and youngest warrior were going to the crumbled equivalent of what could have been the Diamond Quarter.

* * *

It was almost scary how Dyrfinna couldn't sense any darkspawn. Like the place had been cleared out completely and thoroughly. There was still that pulse from the blood and decaying corpses that littered the streets but nothing as vile as a living darkspawn and even that was overpowered by the warmth in her veins of a fellow Grey Warden walking alongside her.

"So I have a question." Alistair stated, sticking his head into a smashed in window and quickly surveying for signs of recent life.

"Speak." Dyrfinna kicked the door in of the same house, splinters flying from the dried out wood into the air before they settled. She glanced around, aiming the runic yellow light around the room, pots and pans abandoned, chairs still where they'd been vacated. Not even the drip of water from the pump in the washroom as she walked over half rotted children's toys or the signs of insect life to show it was more than the house of a ghost.

"Well... you're a woman right?" He trailed off, his light following her through the building.

"I was the last I checked, that might not have been very recently I admit, I have always been assured one keeps the gender of their birth." She said dryly, swiping her metal gauntlet on a shelf, dust collecting on the finger. "This house has not been lived in for a long time. Next one."

"Wow, a sense of humour from one of the resident barbarians. Never thought I'd see the day." He snorted, following her out of the house.

Dyrfinna moved to the next on the street, shaking the handle of the door only for it to snap off in her hand, the door swinging open with a creak. "Did you have a point or was that just a question on my gender?" She sighed.

"Oh right." Alistair looked into the house over her shoulder, his light swaying over even more undisturbed dust. "Not this one - but you were married right? Have a son?"

"I do." She brushed past him, shoving her elbow into the next door on the street to push open the door.

"So... you've been wooed before..." Dyrfinna glanced back at the fellow Warden, furrowing her brow as her light showed his blush through the open face of his helmet.

"I suppose." She sniffed.

"Right. Good." He nodded, audibly gulping. "So... how would one go about wooing?"

Dyrfinna stuck in her tracks. "You wish to woo?" She smirked.

"Er... possibly." He shrugged.

"A goat." She answered him straight-faced, peering into the next house which had an open door.

"You can't be serious." He snorted, his laughter hesitant.

"Of course I am. In my clan one would sacrifice a goat upon an altar with a special dagger. Carve the name of their intended into an apple and stuff it into the goat's mouth before roasting it and praying for their woman to fall madly in love with them." She smiled brightly. "It might be different of course in lowlander tradition."

"You really aren't serious - you can't be." He'd paled. "No flowers or little tokens of love?"

"Of course I am not serious you ninny." Dyrfinna laughed. "But you answered your own question. A token, something that reflects what you feel about your intended should be suitable."

"Right." Alistair said sceptically. "And did you just call me a ninny?"

"I might have." She shrugged. "That's one street down. Next one." Dyrfinna wiped her gauntlets together and looked back at him.

"So, how about a story? How did you get wooed?" Alistair smirked.

"With a goat." She smirked back.

"I am never going to know when you're serious am I?"

"Not at all."

* * *

Loghain wasn't enjoying searching the ghost thaig, he was a soldier true - and that following of command was something deeply embedded but he might have gotten used to being the general, the weight of the lives on his shoulders. There wasn't a single living creature here from what they could see. Damn. They were wasting time then.

"So what, now we're supposed to be best friends? Bosom buddies? Sit around the campfire and sing together? That's what Grey Wardens do when they aren't beating the shit outta darkspawn right?" Oghren grumbled.

"Somehow, I have no desire ever to hear you sing, Dwarf." Loghain glanced at the old forge, half finished weaponry had just been left on the anvil or what should have been cooling in a trough. They'd just left - not taking a single item - even weaponry as the darkspawn had taken this place.

"Good, ain't planning on singing sober." Oghren responded. "Bet you if Branka came through here she'd of foraged every bit on that forge and their techniques. Brilliant mind she had."

"Would they be so different from modern techniques? They'd be positively primitive I'd have thought." He answered the dwarf.

"Ah, but modern doesn't always mean better. Just coz a sword or a piece of armour can get fired quicker don't mean it's stronger. Branka wanted to see how the ancient dwarves held off the darkspawn so long with supposedly primitive means. Thought she'd cracked it with the Anvil of the Void but couldn't re-create it. That's why she trooped her whole house down here." Oghren sniffed. "But enough a that. We gotta princess to sniff out."

"Yes." Loghain mused on how devoted a man would have to be to join the Grey Wardens to find her - alive or dead. He hadn't thought the darkspawn were a proper threat, but dreams where the Archdemon made him wake bathed in clammy sweat and seeing just how abandoned places like this Aeducan Thaig were... it made him re-evaluate that viewpoint.

* * *

Leliana pinged the trap closed and Carver just watched - feeling bloody useless. "It is simple no? You find the weak spot and target it. The trap will fail to deploy but is no harm any more."

"This is useless." He scoffed. "No princess and no bloody Branka here."

"Do not so disheartened!" Leliana cooed. "And do not scowl, you will find yourself looking like Loghain in no time."

Carver couldn't hep the burst of laughter before it abruptly stopped. "You don't like him." He stated, trying not to laugh again.

"I have respect for the man but no, I find him difficult to get along with." Leliana admitted with a shrug. "But let us get off that subject hmm? This area was built for kings no? Bhelen carries the surname of this thaig..."

"Yeah..." Carver pondered, sucking his bottom lip in. He wiped his lip off and looked around. "Bet you they wouldn't come back with all the darkspawn blood."

"No, I suppose they would not. Not unless they carried a bronto worth of soaps and scrubbing brushes."

The two giggled, picturing the look of some of the deshyrs from the assembly, like the one with the bun holding her wrinkles back with a broom in one hand and a pail of soapy water in the other. Not going to happen.

* * *

Lucien saw two flares go up before the bang resounded, one slightly before the other. Ah dammit all! "Bethany - head to Carver's group - I'll go to Dyr's." He picked up his staff, looking briefly at the sleeping bronto and Bethany picked up the red tube of their own flare - holding it above her head as she lit the fuselage with her magic.

Their flare shot into the air, smoke burning a plume behind it before it exploded with a flash of orange light. And with that the mage shot off, his gait of left leg, right leg, staff almost like a gallop of a horse as he pounded the stone, skidding in the wet of darkspawn blood toward what they thought was the residential district.

He caught sight of Dyrfinna smashing darkspawn about, her shield and sword both swinging to use the buildings as weapons as much as the metallic implements in her hands.

Alistair had the used flare stuffed into his pocket, slashing at the darkspawn as they stumbled away from the Avvar woman, shielding himself should a body part fly in his direction.

Lucien held his staff out horizontally, summoning on his mana and shooting lightning at the darkspawn taint he felt coursing thick in his veins, the darkspawn groaning, spindly teeth on show as their maws opened in pain. Dyrfinna didn't even look back and neither did Alistair as they moved in and ended the distracted creatures.

The thump on the ground wasn't good though. It caused roof slates to jolt off the houses of the street their showdown had started in and there was the sound of a scream that distracted the commander.

He tore his attention over to the sound - it couldn't be Bethany, oh Maker that sound would haunt his nightmares. "Ogre!" Alistair yelled.

Lucien shook his head and the fire threaded down his forearms, burning into the runes on his staff a bright red and flowing seamlessly to distract the huge creature, horns down and aimed for their Ash Warrior.

Dyrfinna didn't budge - fucking crazy woman jumped just as the ogre was about to rip her in twain with those horns, latching her shield around the left horn and stabbed downwards into the head - skidding down the back of it with her sword still stuck in.

The Ogre shuddered to a stop, collapsing with tongue out through spiked teeth and the crazy woman in a bloody ball at the end of the street, stopped from carrying on in her bloody skid by a wall.

"Dyr... dammit you better not be dead." Lucien hopped over the dead Ogre, pulling into his mana again to light up a healing aura. Being a healer was a useful skill as a Warden - simply because half the blasted people in his order must have a death wish the way they charged into danger.

He knelt quickly, pulling helmet off a head gently enough that if she'd injured her spine she'd carry on living but with the urgency that she could be dead. Lucien's hand glowed blue and he felt her heart beating as he laid it upon her forehead. "You lucky, crazy woman." He muttered, probing through her nervous and circulatory systems to mend anything gone awry.

"She's alive - thank the Maker." Alistair huffed. Dyrfinna raised her head, coughing a glob of blood onto the floor.

"Stay still, you have a few cracked ribs." Lucien reprimanded.

"She took an Ogre down on her own!" Alistair breathed.

"I helped! Or do you think fire just blossoms on Ogres naturally?" Lucien quipped.

"Now who is being the bickering children?" Dyrfinne wheezed.

* * *

Bethany reached the approximation of what they'd thought was the Aeducan Thaig Diamond Quarter to find Leliana slumped against the wall out cold, her legs bleeding profusely and Carver swiping wildly into the darkspawn trying to get at her.

"Maker give me strength!" Bethany summoned up as much of her mana as possible, crystalline ice sparkling and spiking through the amassed darkspawn and her twin cut them down as if this was the plan all along, icy shards of darkspawn flying through the darkness in shiny red projectiles.

She rushed to Leliana's side as Carver readied himself against the darkspawn still coming toward them. Her hands lit blue and she quickly stopped the ex-bard from bleeding out, dragging her out of the way a bit before she stood, battle ready.

"There's way too many." Carver huffed.

"Let's take as many out as possible then brother." Bethany's hands went up in fames when there was the sound of two distinct warcries from the end of the street and the clanging of metal.

Carver charged himself as Bethany let her flames loose on the darkspawn. An axe started chopping the monsters down alongside Carver, red hair flashing in the light of the fire and their runic lights.

Suddenly she heard a very familiar groan and intake of breath and then a heavy metallic thud. She turned her head, eyes wide and searching for Carver. "No! No! You can't be dead! Get up!"

The blue healing magic shot from her hands without a thought to her brother, he groaned, suddenly picking his sword up and holding it across himself as a body fell across him.

And then... it was just over... As soon as their lives had been threatened it stopped. Carver groaned on the floor, shoving the hurlock off himself. "Ow. I heard that scream in my blood. But I'm back up - thanks sister." He looked sheepishly at the floor.

Loghain and Oghren looked them up and down. "Nice head wound." The dwarf chuckled. "Hey look, the spindly Orlesian is on the floor too."

"Leliana was hurt when I got here." Bethany murmured. "We should bring her back to the bronto so I can look at her wounds properly - and get some lyrium."

* * *

Dyrfinna felt the warmth in her blood as she was being bandaged around the ribs, the bindings tight to help aide the healing magic already pumped into her body. Lucien fussed like a mother hen, scolding her for almost dying and at the same time shocked she'd taken the Ogre out so quickly.

She looked up to see Loghain, Oghren, Bethany and Carver approaching, Leliana over Carver's shoulders. "Maker's breath - did she try to take an Ogre on by herself too?" Alistair groaned.

"No..." Carver furrowed his brow, blood leaking down his face from the gesture. "Who did?"

"The crazy Avvar getting her ribs bandaged." Lucien answered him. "How hold still Dyr."

"Yes commander." Dyrfinna sighed, holding her tunic up to her breasts tightly as he continued to wrap the gauzy linen around her bruised ribs.

"An Ogre? All by yourself?" Carver whistled low. "Wow, how in the Void?"

"I hooked my shield over his horns, jumped onto his back and stabbed downwards and as I skidded in the blood I ripped his spine open. He died - the darkspawn are stupid if you know where to attack." She shrugged, getting a tug around her middle as Lucien narrowed his eyes for her moving.

"So what happened to Leliana?" Lucien asked.

"The darkspawn decided to try and hamstring her, they cut her pretty deep." Carver gently laid the ex-bard down. "Bethany did some healing but she needs lyrium."

"I'll get to it in but a moment - Bethany, do the warding spell around this square, we'll set up for a while, get some food in these wounded soldiers of ours as well as ourselves and head out after some shut eye." Lucien tied a double knot in the bandages and Dyrfinna rolled her tunic down, picking up her chainmail and shucking it back over herself.

The group seemed to potter around doing the general tasks of setting camp as Dyrfinna put her plate back on over her chain. Lucien headed to Leliana, downing the blue lyrium potion quickly and starting to heal.

* * *

"So why would the darkspawn attempt to cripple one of our Wardens when they prefer to just kill?" Bethany asked, scraping the bottom of the tin bowl.

The commander gulped. "There's a few things I need to tell you all about becoming Grey Wardens." He stated ominously. "I suppose no better place to tell you. As I'm sure you're all aware there are side effects to becoming a Grey Warden, some quite useful like faster reflexes, greater ability to gain muscle through minimal effort, increased mana pools and more powerful magic, being able to sense darkspawn, immunity to getting tainted or curing the Blight disease - criminal records being wiped clean and of course being a free mage. And then there are downsides..." He looked into their small fire, wood salvaged from the abandoned houses.

"Well we know some of those." Carver grumbled. "Can't sleep without thinking I'm going to die."

"Yes, the darkspawn dreams are one of those downsides." Lucien pursed his lips. "And you all know about the hunger. But there are more... horrid sacrifices we have to make to be Grey Wardens."

"Well out with it boss." Oghren grunted.

"For one - each one of us has a limited time left to live. The darkspawn taint we all ingested kills us eventually, thirty years tends to be out best bet but during the Blight each year that passes will take two from your time left." He gulped. "We call it the Calling, our nightmares increase to epic proportions, almost waking dreams. Our hunger triples and we go down into the deep roads, willing ourselves to die in battle against the darkspawn."

"Thirty years!" Bethany's mouth dropped. Even if they ended the Blight today that would mean she'd be dead by at least forty-eight!

"Yes. But thirty years as a free mage was something I was quite happy to take really. You were never in the circle - it's a horrid place I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

"Anything else?" Carver growled.

"We are also effectively infertile." The fellow mage bowed his head. "I have heard of some Grey Warden pregnancies but they... have stillborn children or they miscarry. Every Grey Warden who has a child had them before their Joining. That means that if we find someone to be with who can put up with the nightmares, and some Wardens do - the chances are slim to none, especially if their partner also is a Warden."

"Mother... she always wanted grandchildren." Bethany whispered.

"I'm so sorry." Lucien's voice cracked. "It's hard to take, especially at first but you'll find no better home than the Grey Wardens no matter your background, no better place to hone your skills or pick up new ones. We do get paid too. As soon as we get to the Denerim Compound I'll send off the letters stating the names of every Warden I have and you're all instantly Senior Wardens considering the Blight."

"That hardly means a thing. Coin doesn't... Maker I never thought about having children but..." Carver trailed off. "Looks like it isn't going to happen."

Suddenly a shield was at the commander's feet. "I left my clan! I will die of this taint regardless! I have journeyed to this barbaric place and done monstrous things to try to get troops for the Grey Wardens!" Dyr was growling. "I have nearly killed myself countless times against the darkspawn..." Her jaw was clenched and her fists in tight balls at her sides. "I hope you die in a pyre lowlander!"

"Hey! Calm it Dyr, you _could_ have died of the taint before. Remember you got saved?" Alistair tried.

"I _could_ have died! I would have preferred to have my end around those I loved! Not in this dark place, surrounded by lowlanders and... and barbarians!" She heaved her breaths. "Do you realise how I have to clarify my meaning so often because I use words different to you? To find out that my ancestors, who drove the Tevinters away and fought for freedom - fought for nought? That the shaman are caged like animals and war is broken out because somebody misinterpreted the words of the shaman Andraste An Brona?"

Silence covered their group, nobody wanting to make a sound. "Look on the bright side, all that anger can be used against the darkspawn girlie." Oghren smiled briefly. "You ain't the only one not happy bout this anyway."

Dyr looked at the dwarf like she'd rip him into little pieces if he so much as said another word. "The darkspawn had better be ready to stop existing." She growled.

"You never answered why the darkspawn tried to cripple rather than kill... it seemed so out of character." Bethany hesitantly whispered, hoping that this wouldn't make anyone in the group blow up - that it was something the darkspawn did during a Blight when in control by this Archdemon.

"Oh..." Lucien bit his top lip, taking a deep breath through his nose. "Have you noticed how the darkspawn are all male? Ever wondered how they procreate?"

"I never want the image of darkspawn doing it... argh, Ancestors balls!" Oghren grimaced.

"They... use women of our known races. Elves, humans, dwarves and qunari - creating sharlocks or shrieks from elves, hurlocks from humans, dwarves make genlocks and qunari make qunlocks or ogres. We don't know how - we assume... rape, but it could be part of the tainting process. It takes a while too for us to become infertile so... if a female Grey Warden ever gets lost in the deep roads or during battle it's imperative to find their body - no matter the cost. Only a handful of Wardens have ever fought a female darkspawn and it's supposed to be almost suicide to attempt in a small group." Lucien gulped. "Hencewhy we mainly recruit men. Sometimes it's a blessing to have our infertility."

Everyone was as quiet as a Chantry mouse, not even breath to break the silence. Bethany stared into the flickering fire, how it licked the wood, charring - the ash falling softly onto the stone - the hiss and pop as it found a pocket of water to turn to steam. The unfairness of it all overwhelmed her - the only question was why? Why could such evil exist? How could they stop it? Why did it have to be her who did? What could she do until this ache stopped in her very bones.

"I think we should get some rest - and I'm very sorry Wardens. There are compelling reasons to have as many skilled as we at hand during a Blight. I shall explain more when we wake." And with that Lucien crawled over to his bedroll, face down into the padded pillow built in.


	14. Sneaky Princess

Author note: Anyone else hate the deep roads? It's too nondescript for detailed explanations of what we see in-game. So here we go - more horrid deep roads. Do enjoy my character introspection. It was fun!

And Magda is pushing Loghain at Dyrfinna and Dyrfinna toward Loghain with every sentence. It isn't funny - it's like trying to pull magnets apart. Damned muse.

I also hope you like my canon Lady Aeducan. I love her. (Just for your information - Gorim would so get exiled with Aeducan)

* * *

Dyrfinna awoke more angry than she'd been last 'night', seething actually about how cruel life was. Was this truly Sigfrost's penance for her killing of the horrific bear? Or lowlanders proving how wicked they really were?

She stuffed what breakfast of dried jerky they'd rationed for each of them, picking up her weaponry and moving into line. "You're luckier than most you know. Having a family before you joined." Alistair sheepishly shrugged at her as they broke their camp.

"More to lose." She snapped back. "More to protect from this barbarism and blasphemy."

The whole group of lowlanders seemed to avoid her after that as they continued through the thaig, the bronto moving at it's steady pace behind them, the snort of it soft and almost pacing the anger welling.

She noticed just how sad the shaman Bethany was, how Carver put his arm around her shoulders to reassure her. "It's for the good of Thedas. We'll be part of stopping this evil." It almost made her wish she could have been back with her clan for one moment - to have someone who cared for her like that to assure her the world wasn't all this blackness and tainted, grotesque evil.

"Right - now exiting Aeducan Thaig, no princess so onto Caridin's Cross!" Lucien chimed, Dyrfinna narrowed her eyes at the shaman, his being used to this information hurting more. If she could have known before this mantle was foisted on her. It might have changed her opinion now.

"Onto Branka!" Oghren cheered. It was awe-inspiring how the dwarf had bounced back from his first nightmare when he'd woken, the dwarves didn't dream either - and just after learning all he had about the Grey Wardens. Truly awe-worthy what lengths the man had gone for to find his very probably dead or... worse wife.

"Yes, let's find that wife of yours!" Lucien smiled at him.

* * *

It took almost three days from his estimations from Aeducan Thaig to Caridin's Cross, cave-ins and darkspawn with the pace of the bronto and the need for recuperation and rest hindering them somewhat. Lucien sighed. "Lookie here! These are Branka's!" Oghren smiled, fingering the wall of the tunnel, Lucien turned his head, adjusting the brightness of the runic light attached to his cowl. They definitely were markings - made with an axe?

"So we're on the trail?" He asked. The sooner they were out these deep roads the better. None of the Wardens would speak to him more than a few strained sentences - mealtimes were worst.

They still had each other's backs during a fight but there was a definite schism. Those that were coping, trying to think of this as a higher calling, a betterment for Thedas - Alistair, Leliana, Carver and Oghren.

And those that felt betrayed, who wished they could have made their own decision. Chosen whether they wanted to be Wardens even if it meant something worse - Loghain, Bethany and Dyrfinna. And he still had to tell Thorvald. Still had to tell them the last bit of their being Wardens.

He couldn't do it now, he couldn't risk alienating them all more. He could hope for doing it like ripping off a bandage that had become engorged with blood - quick and painful. Or he could hope they'd come around before he eased them into the truth.

The burn in his veins increased and there was a distinct shuffling ahead. Darkspawn... he removed his staff from his sling and summoned up his mana.

* * *

Bethany let loose all that rage, all the bitterness that she was tainted with, would die from in battle, her magic potent and deadly. Her flames charring through darkspawn like nothing, her ice shimmering in it's fragile, ephemeral beauty.

She could swear her healing had improved no end, her healing aura extending and wrapping around their group like a protective blanket, the urge to make sure none of them died quelling this ache, this horrid ache.

Their warriors were vicious, Oghren screaming his rage and swathes of darkspawn falling around him, Dyrfinna on the other side, her shield and sword ringing with that power and strength. Loghain with his tried and tested manoeuvres, reigning the darkspawn in so the mages attacks were brutal.

Leliana a flurry of slashes, crippling darkspawn and ending them without mercy. Alistair... his sword and shield defending the mages at every opportunity, the fractures his shoulder had gotten after a particularly long battle.

_These hands were supposed to heal, were supposed to do good - if this was all she was worth, then by the Maker she would be the walking weapon that Lucien had recruited._

* * *

Of course the Grey Wardens would hide their true nature. It would have been better just to stick a knife in his kidneys. Bloody Orlesian sympathisers. Loghain kept in formation as they trooped forever forward in this damned darkness.

He wasn't about to roll over and die because they wanted him to. If he'd been just anybody he might be assured that it was to keep him alive. But this? Was it worth dying because they said so? Could there be some catch to it all?

What had initially incensed him to even swallow that bloody poison?

Loghain knew deep down that prior to that blood mage fiasco in Ostagar he'd been butting heads with Cailan almost relentlessly, knew that if the battle had turned he could have, no matter how difficult that decision, put the lives of the men of the flank ahead that of one foolish man.

Did that make him a monster capable of regicide? Perhaps - but he'd moved against those instincts and been too late to charge when that beacon had been lit. Failed Maric and Rowan - their son lost because he hadn't managed to do a damned thing.

Getting that darkspawn blood in the eye, that spider that latched over him and dripped it's venom over his face. He'd taken the venom counters but he knew - Loghain knew it would kill him. It probably should have.

And now he was here - in the dark of the deep roads and tasked to kill darkspawn for the rest of his life. Fitting. But that didn't mean he'd made peace with it. No Ser!

* * *

Carver, found something. Something, he wasn't sure he knew had been inside him. It felt like a purpose. To be part of something that was greater no matter how horrible it was.

He was protecting people, proving how valuable a person he was to the world. If that wasn't worth thirty years... and people died all the time. Mercenaries didn't often have families (like the Blackstone Irregulars that Miriam had done some work for) - because their death rate was high. So thirty years and hopefully he'd help to end this Blight, help to eradicate this darkspawn threat so people wouldn't need recruiting into the Wardens, people wouldn't get tainted.

It was a nice idea he supposed, the best face Carver could put on it. It was better than moping about hoping life had gone a different way.

It had always been that way though - things happened, it wasn't fair - you could fight it like a child or you could embrace that change. Carver was tired of acting like a child. It was time to get on with things the way men were supposed to.

And to support Bethany. That damned Lucien could have conscripted her then let her go... he didn't need to actually make his twin sister a Grey Warden did he? Just get those templars off her back and then let her be.

* * *

Leliana supposed that this what the Maker had asked her to do, to aide the Grey Wardens, to become as they and be a saviour in repentance for her wicked lifestyle prior to becoming a Chantry lay sister. The life she had lead had been nothing by deceit and trickery, death and destruction not only for those victims but for herself.

This was something good. Being a Grey Warden meant those crimes had been absolved, but the price of such a wiping of the stale was hard. They were stopping evil and she remembered the nobility of the Grey Wardens in Val Royeaux, when she had travelled in Jader and Montsimmard they had radiated a protection - of being bigger and greater than mere mortals.

Not everyone had taken the news that there were downsides to their status - but everything in life had downsides no? One simply had to focus on what good they could do despite such trials.

* * *

Well, if it got Branka back it had to be worth it.

Oghren took it in his stride, seeing those sodding pictures in his head when he should have slept as soundly as the stone, that he was going to die... well everyone was going to die right? Now you just didn't get any surprises over it. No big deal.

And if he was completely honest - it felt good to have an axe back in his hands. Like how he was always supposed to be, you got trained, you fought for your people, they thought you were honourable and blessed by the Ancestors.

Soon as you break one rule - on accident because your training took over, the training your own people had pumped into you - life weren't so peachy after that. They couldn't strip him of his caste because he was married to a Paragon for Pete's sake, but they could take away everything that made you a warrior.

The Grey Wardens didn't care. They valued him and if that didn't make him want to to tear up they were searching for the old girl, his personal ball and chain.

Call him a lovesick fool but if it got Branka back where she was supposed to be - in Orzammar dazzling like that amazing little woman she was, then sod it he'd fight darkspawn for the rest of his life.

* * *

Nothing, neither hide nor hair of the Paragon. Dyrfinna unfurled her bedroll on the floor of the tunnel, wearied down to her bones. Fighting, eating, sleeping and endless walking. Sigfrost's pelt some variety wouldn't have been welcome. Oghren was getting brighter the further they went - the cuttings into the walls fresher.

"I had this place on my maps." Their shaman commander looked around the grey stone buildings they were near. "We never thought we'd ever manage to cut through the darkspawn to get here, it was lost during the forth Blight you see."

"Well spit it out - where'd Branka lead us?" Oghren asked.

"This should be... according to my maps. Ortan Thaig and if I boned up on my dwarven history-" He was cut off.

"Caridin was House Ortan before he was named Paragon!" Oghren cheered. Dyrfinna felt relieved, it should be over soon. Some sleep and they'd either find a couple hundred dwarves huddled around his anvil that was so important or a couple hundred dead dwarves. Either way, she wasn't sure if she had it in her to care too much - it would be over.

Bethany and Lucien set to sorting out the dried fruits and meat for their rations, adding a bit of brandy in the bottom of the cups as they poured some water into them.

Dyrfinna ate and drank in silence as people mulled around, the wards set up so the darkspawn would ignore them. "Still wishing you'd died of the taint?" Loghain pointedly spoke to her, their conversation away from the main group.

"Are you?" She responded dryly.

"I've decided something like the taint isn't going to stop me." He snorted softy. "Didn't kill me and I won't let it take what life I have left being maudlin."

"That is... wise. I should have realised that on my own." Dyrfinna looked up and smiled, just the edges of her lips affected.

"Now who thinks who's simple?" Loghain positively grinned for him.

"I never thought as such. It was merely a statement-" She was cut of by the low chuckle from his throat. "You think I am being amusing?"

"We're all a bit wound up, focused on our mortality, having thought we'd never die."

"If I had been told I might have chosen to have saved my own life. I hate the fact it was secret to me." Dyrfinna rubbed small circles into her forehead under her fringe. "And I am... sorry. For my outburst. Not all lowlanders are barbarians."

"I've not seen any evidence to the contrary yet. You never know though, we might prove deep down to be honourable sorts." He shrugged. Dyrfinna found herself smiling, the hate in her heart lessening from such small words having been spoken.

"There are lowlanders less barbaric than others. Thank you for proving that to me Loghain." She leaned forward and lightly brushed her lips to his cheek, light stubble grazing her lips. Loghain had remained stock still throughout and only looked at her when she had sat back, the distance between them again.

He pursed his lips, as if thinking before her took a deep breath in through his nose, sighing. "Sleep well Finna." He rumbled.

"I will." She nodded to him as he stood and went to his own bedroll. Dyrfinna laid back on her bedroll, the errant action suddenly feeling so odd. It wasn't a reciprocated action regardless, a thanks for being a friend. Why would it have been reciprocated? She wasn't of his world and he not of hers.

_Wait a moment... he called me 'Finna' - that... ninny of a lowlander! _

* * *

Loghain's mind was occupied with trying to reason exactly why... why had that damned woman had thought to have all leave of her senses? She was young... and he'd already admitted there was beauty on that tattoo banded face and that flimsy blue silk robe was a haunting thing.

So what was the point of goading a cantankerous old man like himself with something stupid like a peck on the cheek? And why... Maker why did he wish it hadn't been a peck or on the cheek?

Hadn't foolish notions of romance and... nubile young women. She was younger than his damned daughter. But hadn't such notions left him yet?

Obviously not.

So... what happened now? Did he say something? Was he fooling himself that Dyrfinna was interested? Was this just how she showed interest?

Why was he even thinking about that? It must have just been a slip up on her behalf. She was hurting about the truths the commander had revealed to them, he'd said something comforting to her because... because she'd been comforting to him before. So it was gratefulness for returned comfort.

* * *

Lucien awoke to find the tension in the group was a lot lessened. And thank the Maker! Thank any of those bloody Avvar Gods or the dwarven Ancestors if they'd had a hand in it. Thank all of them.

Now to ruin what peace had descended on the Wardens... Oh even Bethany was laughing at one of Alistair's terrible jokes. He couldn't. It was as if she was a little sister he'd never had. Not now.

"Darkspawn!" He yelled, his staff coming with ease from his sling and lightning infusing down the runic weapon.

Beady eyes were suddenly inches from his, fangs as big as his hands ripping and scratching his neck and face. Fuck... he'd forgotten how quick tainted spiders were as Oghren cleaved the thing in two. He lay there, hands fumbling toward the red of his own neck and attempting to heal through the searing pain as the vemon tried to attack him.

Bloody fortunate Wardens couldn't actually get poisoned. The taint was more poison than pretty much anything else - it still burned though, interrupting his concentration as he tried to stem the bleeding.

Battle crashed around him, helmet and chest lights swinging around, flashes of hairy, spindly legs and dark mottled spider bodies - venom splashing alongside blood and webbing sprayed with wild abandon. He picked himself off the ground and tried to think of the itching under his skin as he fired lightning and stone through the warriors cleaving and slashing.

Suddenly something much bigger interrupted the flow of magic and swords, the spiders finished off.

"Ancestors tits!" Oghren exclaimed. Lucien couldn't even chuckle, all their lights aimed toward the gigantic spider blocking the street in front of them and looking like an incredibly pissed spider.

And here he thought spiders the size of mabari were horrible. This could have eaten cows as snacks!

The spider was scuttling with unholy speed toward them. "Get back you bastard!" He looked up to see a dwarven sized figure hurl a flask of something at the spider, smoke plumes billowing around the truly enormous spider.

Suddenly a hang clasped around his and he was being dragged. Unwilling to even comprehend what was happening he followed.

The stomp and clatter of armour and the tingle of ice being cast behind him was the only sign his Wardens were in pursuit.

* * *

Dyrfinna glared at the dwarves that had taken them into the hall of sorts, a burner in the centre with almost dessicated wooden beams burning in it with pungent oil.

"Suppose you want to know how I got that queen to back off." The female dwarf paced backwards and forwards before she removed her helmet, tumbles of brown knotty hair slipping down her shoulders.

"A simple smoke bomb, darkspawn blood and the urine of a bronto?" Leliana smiled. "I am incredibly surprised the doors were large enough for Monsieur Mangetout to get in safely."

"I though his name was Mr Rabbit?" Alistair laughed toward the ex-bard.

"It's the old thaig shaperate - where all the information Ortan Thaig used to have got stored - of course it's big." The female dwarf shook her head. "And yes actually. I suppose you all must be Wardens seeing as you knew that was darkspawn blood then."

"Well yes." Lucien stood up. "Now who are all of you?"

"The exiled... the lost." The woman shrugged. "We've forsaken our old names and half of us are tainted, we tend to go by - 'hey you' if spoken to. We're just surviving now. Ancestors - I never thought I'd look forward to deepstalker tail for way of food."

"No - who are you? All of you?" Lucien gestured at the ten dwarves in the room.

"I used to be," She paused her pacing. "Dharma Aeducan. Princess, kinslayer - and I did kill my brother before you get any silly notions of me being tricked through your heads. I hated Trian, he hated me. Bhelen told me Trian planned on killing me so I did the deed first." She shrugged. "And we have Ruck - who loves shiny objects, Gerrit, Gorim Saelac, Caridin - named after the Paragon and everyone else is too far gone to remember their names. They've been the only things not alerting the darkspawn to our presence. The darkspawn see them as their own."

"You're the princess we were asked to hunt down?" Alistair scoffed incredulously. "Somehow I thought princesses weren't brother killers and... scary women in charge of... six tainted people actually."

"Oh? Did father decide leaving me to rot in the deep roads wasn't good enough? Execution by hanging or headsman's block?" Dharma snorted. "No thanks, I'll stick here if it's all the same."

"Your father is dead." Lucien sighed. "I'm very sorry."

"Don't be, he was old and a doddering fool." She shrugged, getting back to her pacing. "So why were you asked to find me of all people?"

"Your fathers advisor - Pyral Harrowmont and your surviving brother are in the middle of a battle for the throne. They're both even in the votes in the assembly." Lucien bit his lip. "As Wardens we're not supposed to support either side. But we need troops, there's a Blight on."

"I'd go for Bhelen but that's my choice." Dharma laughed. "He's a slippery bastard, sodding clever and knows his way around that festering pool we call politics. Harrowmont? No don't make me laugh. He was the reason we turned down aide whenever the surface deigned to send any against the darkspawn - poisoned my father's mind against furthering our people. I wouldn't be surprised if he poisoned my father if it got him closer to the throne. He sentenced me down here."

"Ah." Loghain nodded. "I got that impression, he's too close minded to new or better just damned efficiency. He didn't even want to speak to us until we swore we'd stand for him in the throne war."

"That sounds like old Pyral." Dharma grinned. "I should probably thank him. I like it down here. No need to watch out for a poisoned chalice when I sit down to drink, not worrying if my heels are too high for the latest ball. It's quiet if you know how to hide and how to find non-tainted food and water. I do miss the army though. I was the commander you know, endless campaigns to get Aeducan Thaig back. We tried to clear the place ourselves you know. Think we finished it up."

"An ogre and a whole nest left at least." Lucien sighed. "You know you'll never reclaim it."

"Yes. But it was something to while the hours away." She shrugged.

"So will you come back... support your brother?" Alistair asked.

"No. Tell them I'm dead or you just couldn't find me. We found a new tunnel that looks and sound like it's under a sea. We want to go through - start off on the surface far away from Orzammar." Dharma smiled. "As nice as it is I do miss proper food. I go back and I'm not even a dwarf in the eyes of all those deshyrs, lower than the casteless. Bhelen had a nice casteless girl in his harem, sweet - red hair and the prettiest smile."

"I think she's off her rocker." Oghren chuckled. "But we might need you to come with us to settle this bloody throne thing."

"Right. Orzammar first." She snorted softly. "I doubt searching for a kinslayer brought you all the way into Ortan Thaig though."

"We're looking for my wife. Branka."

"Oh?" He eyebrows were raised. "Then I'd better show you the epitaph on the wall then. If we run into the spider queen I have a few more bombs and you mages can paralyse the bastard, the warriors go for the underbelly and cleave through her legs. There's twenty of them."

"She's dead?" Oghren shouted.

"I assume so, she carved it in the wall for anyone who came looking for her." Dharma shrugged. "Oh - and there's a lot of old records that the Orzammar shaperate would pay good coin for back there. Store them on your bronto."

Dyrfinna came away from that whole talk disgusted with the woman and yet strangely in respect of how strong the woman was. She had betrayed her brother, her own blood and yet she stood surviving, tempered by it with a plan. It stood for and against every ideal she had.

* * *

Dharma could certainly get her way around a ruined thaig. Lucien was rather impressed by the traps set out, the ballistae set out in case the darkspawn came close to her base.

The Wardens kept close to her, down winding streets and over rubble until they finally came upon a wall. Oghren looked up at it, following the words with his runic light atop his helmet.

"She was missing me!" He cheered!

"And it's dated a year ago. Dragon 9:29." Lucien breathed. "It took her a year to get here. Where is she going next?"

"Let's see..." Oghren squinted. "The Dead Trenches? We have a map for there right?"

"It's a big black block saying darkspawn breeding ground - suicide." Lucien blurted out. "We have no maps, the only thing close to near there that could help us get around any darkspawn would be the Legion outpost close to there..."

"Suicide?" Dharma chuckled. "That sounds like the legion."

"The legion?" Carver asked.

"The Legion of the Dead. Like the Grey Wardens except they don't have our upsides or downsides and they never come out of the deep roads when they go in." Lucien answered him. "They make a symbolic death and have a funeral... then they just dedicate themselves to killing darkspawn until they die. And they'll take caste, nobility all the way down to the casteless."

"I might have gone to find them if I wanted to die against the darkspawn. But as much as I hate them I'm not suicidal." Dharma shrugged. "So have fun finding Branka."

"We have company!" Lucien yelled suddenly, the burn in his veins spiking.

The Warden group turned to see the huge spider queen. "Oh you sneaky bastard!" Dharma shouted, throwing a smoke bomb.

Lucien readied himself to shoot lightning and Bethany nodded, icy air swirling around her. Their magic went as one and the spider seized up, ice sprouting over it's form and lighting infusing down it's hairy legs.

The warriors charged, hacking and spidery ichor dousing over them. "I can't hold it!" Bethany screamed.

Oghren was clambering up the kossith spider, hacking downwards into it's head when it started moving. "Whey-hey! I feel like a rodeo brontoboy!" He yelled, holding on for dear life to his axe embedded in the spider.

Dyrfinna and Alistair were thrown away by a leg splintering off the spider as it unfroze. Loghain charged through the ichor spurting stabbing upwards under the spider as he skidded.

Maker's breath - he had two crazy Wardens! Leliana was next to Oghren! How in the Void did he not see that sneaky red-head?

She was alternating between holding onto her sword and stabbing with dagger and holding dagger and stabbing with sword - her legs wrapped around the joint between abdomen and head.

A web shot at him and Bethany, shoving them against the epitaph in sticky bonds. "I'm stuck!" Bethany shouted, fire curling around her hands, the web drying and cracking off her.

The spider squealed and Carver had hacked into it's abdomen, ichor and venom splurging over him. The spider slumped down.

Dyrfinna was up and throwing the spider legs off her and Alistair running at the spider and shoving it with her side until Oghren and Leliana, fell in Oghren's case and nimbly jumped off in Leliana's case. "Hey!" Oghren grumbled. Lucien burnt the webs off him and started the healing, pulling a lyrium potion out of his pocket.

"Loghain!" Dyrfinna dragged a heavy black looking metal body out from under the spider by the arm. "Hakkon be my witness you ninny!"

"That's my word." Came the coughed reply.

"Yay! He's alive!" Alistair cheered weakly. "My bruises have bruises. Ow..."

"I'm just getting to you. Oghren shattered his kneecap and dwarves have magical resistance." Lucien sighed.

"You should have put your shield out - look at that cut on your forehead!" Dyr scolded.

"I killed it didn't I?" Loghain grumbled.

"I did actually." Carver sounded pleased as punch.

"Hey - you didn't have your axe in spider face Hawkling!" Oghren chuckled.

"We all killed the spider no?" Leliana chimed. "And when you have time I have pretty bruises on my ribs and thighs."

"Will you stop coddling me?" Loghain snapped. "I'm alive and just a bit... spider covered."

"Just a bit? You look like a spider gave birth to you!" There was a tinkling chuckle Lucien hadn't heard before.

"She's laughing?" Alistair muttered. "Great, spiders covering people in their ickiness makes her laugh and talking about goats."

"Goats?" Bethany furrowed her brow at the ex-templar as she healed up Leliana's bruising.

"Er... nothing. Don't worry that pretty head of yours about it!" Alistair squeaked.

"Oh Maker's breath. I said talk to a woman not a..." Carver gestured at Dyr. "Right, she's a woman but she's more skewed than my big sister."

"I'm completely lost." Bethany sighed.

"Sodding cloudheads. Pike twirler has a crush on sparklefingers. Heh." Oghren chuckled. "Not as funny as girlie over there and-"

"Hey! What did he call me?" Alistair raised his voice in indignation.

"I seen you boy, twirling that pike a yours." Oghren chuckled. Lucien slapped a palm on his head, the blue glow relieving some of his headache.

"Templars tend to have 'twirly' moves don't they?" Carver smirked. "He means your sword."

"Ah! I knew that!" Alistair snorted.

"Sure you did Alistair, and the Divine isn't Andrastian!" Carver laughed.

"Do you... like me Alistair?" Bethany sounded hesitant.

"Er... yes?" Bethany slowly walked up to him, leaning upwards and kissing him softly on the cheek.

"I like you too." She giggled. Even in the dim light of his runic light Lucien could see the blush on Alistair's face.

"Nice - now ravage her!" Oghren cheered. "Where I can see it too."

Everyone burst into laugher, some of it wheezy as wounds and bruises were yet to be healed. That's of course - except Alistair and Bethany who'd huddled into a hug, chuckling lightly.

"Anyone see what happened to the sodding princess?" Oghren asked.

Lucien looked around him - a note on the floor catching his attention. He picked it up with a click and read it aloud. "Went back to the exiled ones. Have fun Wardens, we're headed to that tunnel. -Dharma."

"Sneaky princess." Oghren chuckled.


	15. Broodmother

Author note: Get me out of these damned deep roads! Why did I even have to go to the dwarves first? (Oh yeah - only one treaty but plenty of time for my characters to bond, interact and gain useful knowledge about GWs... still hate the deep roads.

Also - the rating has changed. We move to M and I'll just warn you about a death about to happen as well as a naked - but not smut scene. Plus - broodmother. You really need an M rating to get the horror of that particular thing written right.

And just a piece of information I picked up. Gideon Emery - the voice of Fenris - did a voice over in DA:O too... When you pick a voice set in the character creation, the male human 'mystical' voice set was done by him. Not many words but it's something.

* * *

Dyrfinna felt nothing but darkspawn, even the comforting warmth of her fellow Wardens was like a distant hearth in the middle of winter. She shivered involuntarily, the burn of the darkspawn was not a warm thing, but a cold burn, unnatural and almost malevolent seeping from veins into her very heart, thudding and thrumming in tune.

It sickened her to think that she shared the taint with the darkspawn, that a defining feature of the both was this disgusting thing that would kill her eventually.

"Right, as I'm sure you've all felt then, this... is the black area we call 'The Dead Trenches' - it's a popular Calling destination due to the suicide factor." Lucien gestured down the steps carved downwards to what looked to be a gorge, a singular but great bridge spanning it, the glow of lava bright beneath. "Now there's some Legion created tunnels that head straight here, and their outpost is just..." He grabbed his head... "Just..."

"Oh shit on a stick!" Carver pointed over to the bridge that had been previously empty of all life to a great dragon, larger than even imagination could lend, purple and tainted black, calling to them.

Korth give her strength there was great beauty to be seen, to be felt, the song calling in her very veins, lighting them up in beatific joy. Unwittingly her blistered feet were pulled forward. "Fight it!" Suddenly she was shoved from the side into the wall, only sprawling out as wide as possible stopping her from slipping down the worn stone steps.

What in the name of Sigfrost had she been thinking? That was Urthermiel! The Archdemon! The vile Tevinter creature that had been the reason darkspawn had attacked her clan and caused her tainting!

Urthermiel was going to die!

The tainted God seemed to look at the Warden group, milky eyes boring into them, uninterested in their paltry number.

The fire was purple coming straight for their number. Dyrfinna pulled her shield over her body, scrunching as small as possible to take cover behind.

Suddenly, a great blue webbing was surrounding them, encompassing the group, the flames useless around, battering it like nothing. She stared at the intense array of light, the billows of the flames over the lightning blue that darted around like a bubble.

It was, heart-wrenchingly beautiful, the battle between magic and this fire. Lucien stood, his hands outstretched, the webbing tangled around his fingers like vines, sweeping out. His nose bled, his eyes wild, the light almost glowing from their depths.

The Archdemon roared, the sound reverberating deep in her core and the purple fire abated, through the blue webbing wind picked up, her hair greasy and blood soaked from their time down here brushing off her head.

Lucien let down the blue webbing, slumping to the floor. "She brought some friends." He coughed - pointing down the steps.

Dyrfinna followed his finger and the cold burn in her veins to see the darkspawn advancing up the stairs.

She switched into battle mode as it were, her ancestral sword unsheathed with ease as she cut down the first up the stone, Oghren came barrelling past, is axe swinging to catch a hurlock under the chin.

Warcries were hollered, light beams from helmets getting closer as the warrior charged, careful down the steps as possible as they battered and sliced darkspawn back, blood bathing the stone.

Dyrfinna huffed in weariness, all this fighting was near constant. There was only so much adrenaline a body could take when tiredness would set in. It was providence that their armour was strong enough to withstand the battles but gunk and grime stuck to them, rough globs building up over the once gleaming metal and staining the leathers of straps, the chainmail would always be this horrid red black of darkspawn blood.

There was a great stampeding of feet and warcries but she couldn't look back, dedicated to keeping slaughtering the darkspawn in her wake, shield and sword both weaponry in battering and slicing, bone and blood equally crunched and splashed.

The darkspawn seemed to dwindle, magic and swords slowing as their numbers lessened until just the outside burn settled in her veins.

Dyrfinna let go of the hold she had on her adrenaline control, relinquishing herself to the tiredness afterward in the relative safety.

How had they managed to cross the entire bridge? Was battle so usual now that the passage of time was nothing. And who were those dwarves Lucien was chatting almost amicably to?

"Well Kardol, we're all a little crazy don't you think?" The shaman grinned, his face still trailed with blood from his nose.

The bald dwarf, heavy tattoos over his face but the colour drained in the dim light chuckled. "I knew it, all Wardens are sodding insane. But you cut a line through the spawn. Now we hold this line."

"You have no inclination to join us in our endeavour?" Leliana asked.

"Legion can't move without the word of the throne." The dwarf answered. Oh... so they were this Legion of the Dead!

"Speaking of the throne, where does the Legion stand?" Loghain asked.

"Anyone who'll let us get on with the job." Was the reply. Loghain hmm'ed to that. "Oh and word of warning, drunks make poor allies."

"You bet ya moss licker." Oghren grunted.

The group moved on quick after that, not willing for a fight between the dwarves.

* * *

The air smelt of death and corruption, the beams of their lights over dusty stone as they encountered the great fortress within the stone itself. High tableaus broken revealing brown bones in old armour.

"Bowannmar... Ancestors tits look at this place." Oghren breathed. "Heh - they made a moustache of bones on Paragon Seuss."

Dyrfinna looked over to see bulbous black sacks threaded with bone around the face of one of the Paragon statues, a feathery looking quill crossed with a maul all in stone on his chest.

"The darkspawn spume in it's purest form. Even as Wardens it's best we stick away from that." Lucien gestured for them to stand back. "Set up a few bedrolls and get the water out for Mr Rabbit. We close the doors and get some proper sleep. We'll need it because these cuttings of Branka's Oghren found are looking fresher. We're likely to find a lot of crazed tainted dwarves soon or a lot of... worse things."

Nobody objected to setting in the hallowed fortress, cloths handed out to wipe the most of the grime from visible skin as well as wards set up and food rations got out.

"We're going to have to start foraging. Only deep mushrooms and deepstalkers are edible down here." Lucien muttered, setting fire to the dessicated wood for warmth.

"Are they immune to the taint?" Dyrfinna asked.

"Yes." Lucien nodded. "I always wanted to do some research on their biology, see if we could make a potion of sorts to allow non-Wardens safely travel in the deep roads." There were murmurs of agreement in the Warden group. "Come... I feel like I could sleep for a week. Does anyone want to stay up for watch just in case? I trust the wards but we're in darkspawn central."

"Not it." Alistair said quickly, followed by Bethany, Carver, Oghren and Leliana. Leaving Loghain and Dyrfinna slow off the mark.

* * *

Thorvald enjoyed the time in the Warden Compound, improving his arrow craft from the pictures lent him by the dwarven smiths, writing down the ballads in the leather journal.

And Morrigan had been no pain. e kept to herself mainly, potion making, spell casting in the courtyard.

Asgrim had been moping relentlessly, missing his mistress. His clansman's hound curling up to him at night, doggy tears in tracks down his muzzle.

It was another couple of weeks before the shaman commander had instructed he and Morrigan to go and finish what had been started with the treaties. The throne situation had been quiet, some nobles had tried to invite him to dinners and despite the hunger and not wanting to bother the servants of the Compound he declined.

Not showing of fealty either way until the rest of the order came back.

He hoped, down in the depths of the deep roads that the Grey Wardens were successful and heading back as he thought about it.

"Are you feeling cold Warden?" He turned over in the bed, not even disturbing the hound at the base of it and tapping his fingertips to the runic light on his bedside table. The light blossomed gently from the rune, lighting up the whole room in faint yellowed light.

His eyes settled on the very naked form of Morrigan in the doorway, casually leaning against the stone. Even as naked as she was her neck was still adorned in that heavy jewellery and her plump lips were quirked into a sly grin, her hair loose about her shoulders.

Unwittingly he whetted his lips and sat up, drawing the thin covers around himself and blinking. "Did you want some more blankets shaman?" He asked, setting his journal off the bed where it had been abandoned to next to the runic light.

"Surely one as... clever as yourself could think of something much more... warming." Morrigan drawled, sauntering into the room, getting closer to him with every soft step. He hadn't even heard the door open in his previously half awake state. That wasn't good for a scout. Not good. Thorvald almost swallowed his tongue as Morrigan leaned into the poster of the bed, her breasts touching the carver wooden beam.

"Imhar's laughter... I shall help you find a blanket." He took a deep calming breath and got out of the bed, hoping he didn't look... aroused by her act. The Wardens were caring for this woman, not using her like... this. And the shaman was a lowlander and would never submit to Avvar marriage, not understand.

Morrigan purred and he groaned, grabbing the blanket and passing it to her. "Out of this room. We were tasked to look after you." He could get another blanket soon enough - or sleep like this, being a Warden was a warm thing and he rarely felt cold in Orzammar.

"Perhaps this is how I would prefer to be looked after?" Was the low reply, a chuckle in her throat. Thorvald's breath stilled in his chest.

"But not how your mother would prefer you looked after." He promptly replied. "Now take the extra blanket and go to your room. I am old enough to be your father young girl."

Morrigan scowled at him, holding the blanket close to her chest as she turned back out of the room, her hips swaying seductively. Korth give him strength.

He turned around to see Asgrim tilting his head, tongue hanging out. "She will be trouble. You know that - and she is young. Njall was older than her - you remember him do you not hound?" It was not uncommon to have a wife or lover younger than the other, either the man or woman as such partnerships were equal things. But she was a lowlander!

Asgrim whined. "Do not look at me like that. Perhaps one day there will be more children to ride your great shoulders, perhaps your mistress will provide them."

He laid back down on the bed, staring up at the silvery griffons on the blue bunting. Thorvald reached out to slap his hand down on the runic light, the room back to darkness for the night cycle of the dwarves.

Sigfrost's pelt, the lowlander shaman did not look like he was going to let this one go.

* * *

Dyrfinna struggled to keep her eyes open, staring at the dying embers of the fire and listening for movement, trusting the feelings in her blood in case of darkspawn and the wards for their safety. The gentle snore of the bronto and that of the Wardens almost lulling.

"Are you not tired?" She smirked to her only awake companion. Loghain glanced over to her.

"Yes." He shrugged lightly. "But I've kept watch oft enough."

"I used to think Thorarin as a babe was tiring." She smiled, reached for her locket beneath her armour and fingering it, the silver bangle he had worn when still young warm to the touch from being next to her skin. "This constant use of drawing on adrenaline in battle has been more wearying."

"Hmph. Maybe you should sleep then."

Dyrfinna considered the idea, trying to think of a good reason not to rest a while. Alistair and Oghren would be relieving their watch soon enough. "No. I can sleep soon enough."

"Stubborn." Loghain snorted softly. "I told you not to wear yourself out."

"You shall wear yourself out too." She pointed out. She scooted over to him, the warm Warden sense almost enough to send her to sleep then and there. "Those bags under your eyes have been getting darker."

"Maybe I'll look more like an old man then." He said amusedly. Dyrfinna smiled, her eyes getting heavier.

"You are not an old man." She murmured, struggling not to slip into the dreamworld. Her chin hit down on her chestplate. "I have yet to have seen snow on your mountaintop."

"Ha!" Loghain's burst jolted her awake slightly. "You don't look closely." Dyrfinna looked sideways at him, his helmet was off, the light pointed toward the Warden group sleeping. She pulled the rune from the clasp on her chestplate and held it up.

Black was mirrored back. "No snow." She chuckled lightly, replacing her lighting rune to clasp. Loghain shook, his laughter silent. "You find that amusing."

"There are men younger me greyer than mules." He said, his shoulders slowing.

"And? You happen to be vital, a warrior. No doubt the men you speak of are not physical labourers?" Dyrfinna shook her head.

"I doubt some of them have ever _seen_ physical labour." He answered.

"Then there is your answer." She felt sleep tugging on the edges of her consciousness again. "I... might fall asleep. If the darkspawn manage to get past the wards do not call me a ninny."

"Perish the thought."

"Good." And with that, she surrendered to the sleep that she had a losing battle against, slumping as her vision blurred, her eyes closing to black.

* * *

Loghain couldn't move... or Finna would smack her head on the floor. When she'd fallen asleep her head had lolled over onto his shoulder, mouth parted slightly, her fringe brushed back.

He smiled without thinking about it but managed to fight the urge to put an arm around the bloody Avvar woman. "I miss you." She muttered sleepily, rubbing her head into his shoulder guard.

He sighed. Of course - she missed her husband. Loghain rolled his eyes and gently put a hand under her head, moving from under her leaning to lower her onto the stone floor.

He should probably wake Oghren or Alistair soon. He'd be falling asleep soon enough himself despite not wishing it. There were some things that couldn't be fought and fatigue would just lend to mistakes in battle.

He moved as quietly as possible, the chink of his armour and click of his joints to shove his boot into the back of the dwarf. "Your watch." He rumbled.

"Sod off cloudhead." Oghren mumbled back. The dwarf sat up, his head snapped back before he yawned and farted. Loghain's foot hit his thigh this time. "I'm gettin' up. Quit your prodding."

"Get Alistair up. Your watch." He pointed over to the snoring ex-templar. Pulling out his bedroll and kneeling her took another cautionary glance at Finna. He didn't know what it was that he liked about her. It could be her candid nature, it could be that maturity... it could be that damned bit of information that in sleep she preferred to be nude.

Either way that murmured 'I miss you' had been somewhat saddening. But at least he knew where he stood now.

It also wouldn't do to get distracted in battle, that woman didn't have a care for her own damned health. A clear head was needed. "Get your sodding arse up pike-twirler!" The dwarf near shouted.

There were a few 'huh's and intakes of breath before most people fell back asleep.

Loghain drifted off. Assured he had a friend in this world who didn't care about conventions and probably would continue to wear that thrice damned silk thing when they got back - if they got back to Orzammar in one piece. The odds weren't likely now they'd found this 'suicide pit' of darkspawn to go through.

* * *

"First day they come and catch everyone." The words echoed, hauntingly beautiful a feminine voice tinged with such melancholic sadness. Dyrfinna jolted awake - unsure if the voice had been real or imagined.

Her eyes scanned the darkness, the groans of people awakening around her. "The sod was that?" Oghren bellowed. So real.

It was so dark, just being used to the darkness allowing for grey figures on black to be seen shuffling. Her heart picked up and she reached for her sword, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her free hand as she stood.

She creaked as she stood, her feet protesting from the blisters on the heel. "I feel a tainted presence..." Lucien groaned. Dyrfinna slapped the runic light on clasp on her chestplate, her light followed quickly by others.

No darkspawn, no phlegmy laughter - but the feeling someone was close - someone tainted worse than Loghain had been. "Was that Branka's voice?" Alistair asked.

"Stone me, no it weren't... I do know it though..." Oghren answered him.

"So one of her house! By jove we've found someone then!" Lucien cheered. "Get sorted Wardens - we go after that voice!"

Everyone scrambled, lights on helmets being slapped into life as well as the ones on their chests, bedrolls and other items packed way. Mr Rabbit (as the bronto has been unanimously named after much arguing) was roused, his slow plod to follow the Wardens at the ready.

"Second day they beat us and eat some for meat."

The very voice filled the Avvar woman with a sense of impending dread. There was a sucking in of breath from the shaman commander. "She's headed this way!" He drew his staff out of his sling. "And there's darkspawn that way."

Dyrfinna pulled her ancestral sword from scabbard and readied her shield. Fighting, eating and sleeping. But they had a lead on Branka. Where she was or where she'd died. The group of genlocks was small, quickly taken out by the warriors. The shaman would be needed for bigger confrontation. They were being held back just in case because the genlocks - as dwarves were slightly resistant to magic.

"Third day the men are all gnawed on again."

Dyrfinna gulped. "Could a whole house of dwarves be... killed and this is our sole survivor?" She asked.

"Don't be ridiculous. We've survived this long ain't we?" Oghren grumbled.

"But they came down here not during a Blight. This is the clearest I've ever seen the deep roads." Lucien reminded the dwarf. "The fact is we're walking through what we thought to be the most... horrid and tainted part of the deep roads."

"You never had the mighty Oghren at your side before." The dwarf snapped back.

"Fourth day we wait, and fear for our fate." The voice echoed and Dyrfinna felt her eyes prick with tears. The emotion in the words. This woman had been through horrid things. It couldn't be...

"Fifth day they return, and it's another girl's turn." That one was almost gleeful and she could feel bile retching up her throat...

"Rape, it has to be... Maker's breath she's talking about - darkspawn women isn't she?" Bethany whispered, the crushed sunniness with her voice cracking as though a lump had formed in her throat. "They took... they took girls."

"Sixth day her screams we hear in our dreams." The voice caressed the words, almost lovingly.

"Dwarves don't dream. They were tainted by then." Oghren sounded fearful. A berserker... fearful.

"Seventh day she grew as in her mouth they spew."

"Oh I'm really going to be sick... the darkspawn were sick in her mouth!" Alistair made a retching noise.

"Eighth day we hate it as she is violated."

"They raped her. The darkspawn... they raped this girl the woman's chanting about." Lucien breathed. "Now you all see what we're fighting. The means justify the ends. We do as we must to stop the darkspawn."

There were muffled agreements to his statement. Even Bethany, Loghain and Dyrfinna agreed. They were stopping the darkspawn from doing this to as many people as possible. It was sick. The means would justify the ends and they were just a part of a long line of people used against these monsters.

"Ninth day she grins, and devours her kin!" The voice sounded distressed.

"The madness of the taint..." Lucien sighed. "Oh Maker."

Dyrfinna's skin became gooseflesh in the darkness, her light on her helmet swayed to see bulbous black and pink sacks, maggot-like creatures spilling out as they pulsated. Lucien stepped forward and burnt the grey maggots. "They were darkspawn. How could they be darkspawn?" She asked, gulping.

"I... I think it's darkspawn young. We're... we're in darkspawn central. At least one of the women from House Branka... Maker - we need to find her!" Lucien gritted his teeth. "Wardens. I won't lie, this may be suicide..."

"I'm with you. The Tevinters cursed the darkspawn upon the dwarves, I would die to stop them." Dyrfinna gulped back again.

More murmured "I'm with you's." and Lucien nodded.

"Right. We continue to follow the voice. For House Branka, for the end of the darkspawn. We stand in the shadows of this world, resolute - knowing our mortality and knowing this evil must be stopped at all costs." Lucien bowed his head and raised his staff.

"Hakkon temper us to what horror we may see and Korth give us strength we may continue." Dyrfinna breathed.

"Maker guide us." Leliana softly chimed.

They carried on, the darkspawn sacks of flesh burnt in their wake, high pitched screams from the larger grub shaped 'baby darkspawn' that spilled out.

The shaman put on the belts with lyrium vials down them, sipping them as and when they needed them when the woman's voice sounded again.

"Now she does feast, as she's become the beast." There was a pause. "Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams."

Dyrfinna clenched her jaw. That was something very true. The woman had listened to their talking... knew they were following and what they planned on doing.

* * *

Loghain had kept silent, he knew the ends justified the means. They found themselves in a room almost sparking from the runic lights, most cracked and flickering to see a figure amongst the softer, squished sacks of the darkspawn flesh, her arms wide and her fingers curled into the bloody mess of it. Almost revelling in covering herself in it.

"Do you have a name?" Lucien took point. "Tell me you are still lucid woman."

"Hespith! Shards and Stone I knew that voice!" The dwarf took a deep breath in and out. The woman looked up, hair bedraggled in blood, her clothes no more than rags. Not even armour on. He remembered Dharma's words - the darkspawn see them as their own. Hespith as Oghren had called her - had long ago weakened too much for what armour she might have owned. No need for it.

"No... no not in this dream. Humans and dwarves so bland and boring. The song..." She put her bloodied hands to her face, pulling as the blistering welts of black mottled taint on her skin. "Such beauty is long gone, replaced by the melody..."

"Sigfrost's pelt." Finna choked.

"Hespith. That's your name isn't it." Lucien crouched, pulling her hands off her face by the elbows. "You were in Branka's house."

"Do not speak that name!" Hespith pulled her hands back to her face. "She did this. This is her madness!"

"Why not speak of Br- her?" Lucien cooed softly.

"Her lover, her captain. I... I could not. I could not stop her." Hespith sobbed, the tears down her mottled skin dark, like the tainted blood of the darkspawn. Maker. This was evil. It was wrong in every sense of such a thing. Loghain steeled himself.

"Branka was a moss-licker?" Oghren sounded puzzled. "By the Stone I'd never had of thought it. She were a real firebrand between the sheets if you know what I mean - heh heh."

"She changed. She stopped being herself, only the Anvil was left in her. They took Laryn and now I'm next. This is her bidding. Her choice." Hespith picked herself up out of the bloody sacks and ran out of the room.

"Follow her. She... she might be going back to Branka or someone who's not so far gone." Lucien stood and took in a deep breath.

He took point ahead them, his staff tapping the stone and flames licking the walls when they found more of the fleshy tainted sacks, lyrium gulped back every so often. The man was incensed, ready to face down one of these female darkspawn.

"I... I never wish to become like that." Finna sounded halfway between being sick and crying.

"Why even make women Wardens? If we get tainted why not kill us?" Bethany answered her.

"The Maker wished us to stop this, we will not fall to the evil of the darkspawn and despite even the evil of taking one's life I would do so before I... became as Hespith." The Orlesian rallied the other women. "We will not falter tho the darkness stands before us-"

"For Korth gives us strength. Tho the winter is cold, Hakkon Wintersbreath will temper us. Tho we may hold coldness and fear in our hearts, Uvolla will give us mercy and empathy." Finna finished the line from the Chant a bit differently. Of course someone had taken the words from elsewhere, there were enough dissonant verses to the Chant of Light to fill a Chantry bookcase.

"The hubris of man stands weakened by such gifts. We become as the Maker wished." The Orlesian added. Finna nodded, in no want of a theological debate but likely taking the words as comfort value. He knew he would, the Chantry was Orlesian through and through, they didn't help during the Occupation but people like Sister Ailis were good. He wasn't how religious he'd been but there was something for the hope and faith of people to rally them.

They found themselves in an airy cavern, lyrium threaded through the walls themselves lending a brilliant blue glow that kept the shadows around the horrid feeling of taint and wrong at the sloping far end. Their footsteps were soft, wet actions. No doubt this darkspawn flesh was now underfoot.

"We tried to escape, but they found us. They took us all, turned us. The men, they kill... they're merciful. But the women, they want. They want to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them. They took Laryn. They made her eat the others, our friends. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood. And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned grey and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them. Broodmother..."

Hespith's voice faded toward the dark end of the cavern.

Suddenly it lit up, the dwarven woman with hands slapped on runic lights embedded in the stone where she stood. Loghain's eye widened as he say the... creature. It was huge, bulging fat marred by tainted mottled blistering sores, silvery stretch marks over extra sets of breasts down the entire expanded body.

Stubby arms moved languidly on the folds of fat - it had been a dwarf once. This Laryn. The head was bald, eyes set deep on the grey skin, fat even around the face hanging, a sheen of sweat over the whole naked creature.

The face looked at them, milky eyes almost weeping with that tainted blood. Then it roared.

Tentacles, ribbed with cartilage, pink and strong shoved out of the fleshy ground. Each coming toward the group.

Magic was thrown about, lightning fizzing even in his teeth, fire hot against his skin as he fought his way toward the... broodmother - the female darkspawn. It was taller at least double his own height, wider than two brontos could possibly be, all of it that quivering fat and breasts that was sickening even to see.

He lost all sense of sound as he thrust his sword deep into the fatty creature, meeting no bone resistance as he slid, crahing down on his hip.

The fat wobbled, threatening to collapse over him and he rolled in the bloody floor away from it, gettng back up quickly to wrench his sword out.

He could see Carver and Finna hacking away at the left of the broodmother, vicious in their attacks, bruising and batting, flesh torn and blood streaming thick over the two warriors. A tentacle swept around Finna's ankles, toppling the Avvar with her shield out and sword still shaking in the body of the broodmother.

Suddenly he was covered in acidic goo and looked up to see more of it hurling toward him. The broodmother using her own stomach and tainted bile as a weapon close range. He wiped the most of it off his face and slashed, a breast lopped off and squished as more fat was spilling over, skin no longer able to hold the mass together as it was split open.

The cooling sensation of healing magic washed over the burning acid that dripped down his face and neck. He spared the briefest of glances back to see Bethany behind Alistair, her healing magic thrown around. Oghren... the Void was that dwarf?

Loghain pulled his shield up in time to the wet splatter of more vomit as it hit the metal kite shield.

"Don't you sodding well die!" Oghren was heard to growl and there was a tearing splatter and the crunch of breaking cartilage.

"She's calling darkspawn to her!" Alistair yelled. Loghain ceased attacking the broodmother - the rest of them needed the help and the two warriors on the broodmother's left were battering and hacking away fiercely still, almost covered by the mounds of flesh they'd carved away.

He bashed the genlock's head in as it tried to get to Bethany on her dias of stone - this might have been a temple before it was taken over by the darkspawn. Or somewhere people gathered, an orator would have stood there.

Fire was bandied about from the mage, heating behind him. The tentacles tried to reach the mage but they couldn't latch near her from the bloody floor.

A tentacle bashed his side and he slid slightly, turning back to it, burning still with the magical fire and his sword went through it with a visceral crunch, flopping madly on the floor.

There was a roar and a wet gurgled scream. The tentacles stopped, dead... the broodmother had been finished. Oghren and Carver were up and helping slaughter the remaining genlocks when it was... just over.

He clasped his side, bruised. There would be others more injured than he - plus a bit of water to wash this vomit from his skin would be good.

"He's dead!" Came the grating, lilting tone of the Orlesian. "Lucien is dead!"

He saw her trying to pull the broken mage from out of the hold of the tentacles he was in. His blood coming through ripped robes and staining the whole of him red.

"That's where they come from. That's why they hate us... that's why they need us. That's why they take us... that's why they feed us. But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed." Loghain glanced up to see Hespith jump from the place above the wilted dead broodmother, hitting the floor hard. She didn't move after.

"Maker's breath!" Alistair skidded on his knees to the commander and shook him out of the tentacles. "Get up. Get up now. You can't be dead - please! Get up!"

Loghain limped to him, placing a gore slicked hand on his shoulder. "He's gone lad. I'm... sorry."

"No! No..." He shook his head violently. "He can't be. Duncan... Lucien... none of the Wardens before Ostagar - none of them are alive. That can't be true." Alistair's head hit down on the bloody chest of the late commander.

"We need new command." Finna limped too into the huddle, her entire form the black of darkspawn blood, lined with gristly sinew and globs of fat, the yellow lights red from her chest and helmet. "We must continue."

"What did Hespith mean that it were 'allowed'?" Oghren grunted.

"That the darkspawn still live. Still terrorise the dwarven people." The Orlesian sighed. "It could mean nothing else."

"Does feel like the surface don't care 'bout us getting taken over by the bastards. Suppose that's what the moss-licker meant then." Oghren shrugged. "Oddly poignant for last words."

"Alistair. You are the most senior Warden here. You must lead what is left of us. There is one tunnel forward which has the axe cuttings on. Do we follow it?" Finna asked, Bethany was already making the rounds of healing, blue light bathing each of them a moment before she finished up, downing a few lyrium vials.

There was a muffled sob on the mage's chest. "He knew this could be suicide. Now do we follow the axe cuttings or head back to Orzammar - saying Branka is dead."

"Hey! We don't know that!" Oghren growled.

"I don't know. I can't lead." Alistair sighed, standing to his full height. "What do you think?"

"I say were are too close. We have found someone of her house, Branka could simply be down that tunnel - digging for all we know."

"Why don't you lead? I'm not in a good place or capable of leading and you're the next most senior here..." Alistair looked glumly down at Lucien's body.

"I did not know what coin was until... however long it has been. I know nothing of the world of lowlanders except basic nature of how the mind works." She huffed. "The most apt to lead would be Warden Loghain."

Loghain was taken aback as red tinged lights flicked over to him. "I've been a hero and a general." He muttered, trying to think why he didn't want to lead the Grey Wardens. It wasn't an idea that had crossed his mind, it wasn't as if he stood for any of their ideals except this... horrific treatment the darkspawn put women through. If he was honest there were worse things than regicide that he'd have done to never see a broodmother again. "I hardly know anything about the Grey Wardens."

"No more or less than I." Finna sighed. "Fine, as the second most senior Warden, I shall take this mantle foisted upon me, but should I need help then I defer to Loghain in matters pertaining to lowlander culture. Now let us move Wardens! Have the shaman's body placed in his bedroll on Mr Rabbit. We can put him through your funeral rites when we are safe."

People moved quickly, not complaining and Oghren nudged her on the hip with an elbow. "Thanks. Didn't think you'd just make us turn back now."

"Think nothing of it. I said it merely to try and prompt Alistair into breaking his mourning. There will be time to mourn later. For now our mission holds presidency." She took a deep breath. "Warden Loghain - a quiet word with you."

Loghain followed her to the edge of the tunnel. "You wished to speak to me?"

"You ninny!" She hissed. "I capable of leading these people but I doubt many will understand what I think. I wish you to back up any decisions I make. You understand that one does not have to be nice but has to get the job done."

"Exactly. You understand that. You're young so they'll think that's how they're supposed to do things and maybe their own views are clouding their judgement." Loghain rationalised. Finna pursed her lips to the side and rolled her eyes.

"Stop being right about how lowlanders view people." Finna sighed. "But you are not old."

"I bloody well am. Now commander - any specific commands you wish to dally about?" He smiled despite the desperate situation, despite the Wardens had just had their commander die, despite the fact that the most capable people of leading were him and a the bloody Avvar woman.

"Stop thinking of yourself as old and get into line Warden." She smiled back. "Why did the shaman have to die and leave me in this place?"

"Because he was a nutcase?" Loghain snorted.

"A case of nuts. That... is confusing and maddening - perhaps you are correct..." She bit her bottom lip, suddenly spitting because of the darkspawn blood there.

Loghain couldn't help laughing. Finna looked at him sideways. "I knew what nutcase meant. You still think me to be simple."

"Don't act the fool and people won't think you one." He rumbled, laughing still under his breath.

"What're you laughing 'bout grumpy pants?" Oghren squinted at him as they arrived at the bronto.

"Does it matter? Some levity is a good thing no, amidst all this death and despair?" The Orlesian lilted, those bard eyes scanning over the two of them amusedly.


	16. The Void & Back

Author note: Now - a big thank you to every single reviewer. If I don't PM my thanks I'm dreadfully sorry... I may have missed you out by accident. But don't be disheartened and lurk! If I get this fic to 100 reviews I shall give that reviewer a short DA fic of their choice.

(Provided they have reviewed before - not just for the fic present.)

I'm making Branka a bit AU here btw. Nobody other than the Archdemon has control over the darkspawn. Branka couldn't make Layrn a broodmother but I assume Hespith blames Branka for taking them into the deep roads in the first place. Branka doesn't set darkspawn upon you, but she is still a bit mad. And it was heartless of her to not kill Hespith or Laryn when they started to get tainted. She knew they'd become broodmothers. Hopefully you'll like my characterisation of her. I liked her.

AND I'M VERY SORRY FOR KILLING LUCIEN. I've had a lot of people hate me for it but trust me when I say it was needed. He was going to tell them about the Archdemon/Warden sacrificial death! Riordan has the joy of that.

* * *

Dyrfinna was slightly irked by the fact she was now de facto commander of the Grey Wardens. Loghain was definitely more apt a leader than she could be. Then if she thought about it - Bethany and Carver were both eighteen winters of age, Alistair was only two winters older than they. Oghren had only just joined the Wardens. Leliana was a painted lowlander, not suitable to lead Ferelden Wardens. Thorvald was almost in the same situation as she. She was a joint second of aptness with Thorvald after Loghain.

Damn Lucien for dying! She'd been a Warden for only a few months at most, hardly knew anything about them. In that time except for Alistair they had all died in that time, thirty years! She'd be lucky to get thirty more minutes if this was the death rate of the Wardens.

Especially the 'commander' - they seemed more prone to death.

Still covered in blood and gristle they headed through the tunnel, Mr Rabbit gently plodding along, carrying his cargo of supplies and corpse with no complaint but the soft snorts of his breath. For such a fearsome looking creature that could most probably gore a man to death he was a docile beast. More docile than Greagoir the mule for sure.

Would Mr Rabbit be able to come along with them on the surface she wondered? Greagoir was only even slightly less cantankerous for Lucien. Damn Lucien again!

The tunnel was dark and Oghren felt along the walls at the axe cuttings as they delved lower and lower, the feeling of the darkspawn was a horrid thing. Evil filled her very veins, it was a large number - and ahead. Hopefully this wasn't caved in.

The tunnel broke off into a large carven, filled with light from runic lights that were stuck in the stone everywhere, each activated. Everything of note that had survived from rot this far into the deep roads after their loss of this part of the dwarven kingdom was pulled into one heap and a single figure, two brown pigtails cut severe with what could have been a dagger and heavy armour on it's body, walked almost glumly up it. It wasn't tainted! A scout from House Branka?

Suddenly there was a slamming noise and Dyrfinna tore her attention behind her to see great barriers settling closed, dust brought up by the action. "Shit! We're trapped!" Carver groaned. Dyrfinna didn't need the obvious statement but it was her sentiments.

"Branka!" Oghren cheered and Dyrfinna looked at the dwarf, following his gaze to the figure upon the heaped pile of stone and metal. The face of the dwarf atop wasn't ravaged by taint, there wasn't a tainted feeling coming from the woman... their Paragon had survived.

"Oh. It's you." Her voice was deep, croaked from misuse. Something about the tone irked her though. Doubly irked from their situation and the tone of Paragon Branka. "Finally found someone to bring you down here. And could they stand your ale breath?"

"Hey! You always liked it woman!" Oghren growled. Dyrfinna couldn't believe it but she put a hand out to the dwarf to silence him. They made her the damned commander and she would act it.

"Paragon Branka. We are Grey Wardens-" She was cut off by barking laughter from the dwarven woman.

"You'll understand then. I'll be blunt. After all this time, my tolerance for social graces is fairly limited. That doesn't bother you I hope." The woman shrugged in nonchalance. Dyrfinna rocked back on her feet, cocking her hip and crossing her arms, still covered in darkspawn blood.

"I prefer blunt." She fanned one hand at herself. "I obviously have no tolerance myself."

"Perfect." Branka smiled briefly, a short gesture but nevertheless good.

"I am to be blunt too though. Orzammar is without King, we Grey Wardens need the allies of the dwarves against the Blight. We need the word of a Paragon to break the votes from even in the Assembly."

"Endrin died? Ha! Old fool..." Branka shook her head. "But I don't care if you want to put a drunk like Oghren on the throne, not while our greatest invention is lost to us. The Anvil of the Void."

"Yes. We heard of your quest." She nodded.

"But I know where it is Warden." Branka's eyes gleamed. "I just need a little help in getting it."

"And it is?"

"Ahead." Branka pointed to a barrier of sorts, huge metallic doors. "Darkspawn infest the corridors, Caridin himself placed traps all along the way. Many of which I've already surpassed. That can't be a problem for Wardens surely?"

"Darkspawn no. But then again these traps?" Leliana moved forward. "There is something you do not tell us."

"I got to the traps. Some ghostly figure appeared and said I stand unworthy." Branka shrugged. "Perhaps you ought to try? I need that Anvil."

"Wardens - we have a task ahead us then. Darkspawn and traps. We secure this Anvil and then Paragon Branka can come with us to Orzammar or give us a token of her support for our contender for the throne." Dyrfinna turned back to 'her' Wardens. Korth that sounded strange even in her head.

"Right. Anvil for the word of a Paragon. That's what we came here for." Carver sighed, shaking his head. Well if that lowlander thought he could do better let him try!

Loghain looked sideways at the youth. "Word of the commander. You comply without hesitation. She says jump you say how high. Hop to it."

"Yes... ser." Carver snorted a long breath. "And yes ma'am."

Thank Sigfrost Loghain had understood her need of his support on her decisions. "Thanks Dyr. You know this means a lot to me." Oghren clapped her on the elbow with a meaty hand. She turned her head to see him smiling broadly, eyes crinkled.

"No sentimentality Oghren. This is a job and we do what we need to do. I fully intend to have the dwarven troops as quickly as possible."

Branka was off the metal and stone heap and stretching out, her sword and shield readied as she unlocked the great doors.

The darkspawn careened out, passing Branka as if she were nothing and homing in on the Wardens. Dyrfinna pulled her sword from sheath and started hacking.

Oghren and Carver were in the thick of it all alongside her, magic thrown about by their one shaman as they received cuts from errant blades or darkspawn.

A rumbling thump sounded as they were getting through the small horde and Branka dived out of the way in time for not one but two Ogres to shove their way into the light filled cavern.

In a blur of motion Carver was leaping, his broadsword cutting down the thick muscles of the left one's back and Bethany was charring the front of it with fire.

The Ogre hollered, injured, spittle filing hot as it splattered alongside blood.

Meanwhile, Loghain and was taunting the Ogre on the right while Leliana and Alistair were attacking it from behind.

Dyrfinna made the logical choice and went to help the Hawkes. Oghren was whirling his way through the darkspawn still left, unfettered by such choices of who of 'her' Wardens to support in Ogre battles.

The Ogre swatted Carver back and Bethany broke off her attacks to run to her brother. Korth's throne! It was injured but that was one horrid attack. Dyrfinna sighed. There hadn't been time for her to get her shield out and she charged, fear replaced by her tempering adrenaline.

The Avvar launched herself at the Ogre, thrusting upward under it's kossith chin with her ancestral sword. The crunch of the hard palate grated against the sharp blade but she forced it further up, ignoring the thump of huge hands trying to beat her through her armour before the Ogre started to topple backwards.

She landed heavily forward to see a lot of staring faces. Oghren whistled. "Nice work boss. How's Hawkling over there sparklefingers?"

"The armour saved him but he's not going to be much use in our fights unless I can get some lyrium from Mr Rabbit." The shaman answered the dwarf.

"And Mr Rabbit is behind the first set of barricade doors." Alistair sighed. "You couldn't undo them Branka could you?"

The Paragon glanced upwards at the former templar, a sceptical brow raised. "It doesn't open once the traps have been set off. It's been stages and stages for the last mile to get through these."

"Exactly." Dyrfinna put a hand up to her face. "So our shaman is running low on magical energies. If the Hawkes and Leliana stay here until Bethany recovers we shall press on."

There were a few grumbles about leaving part of the troop behind but with the barrier door they were quite safe there.

* * *

The next 'trap' Caridin had devised was poisonous gas and three golems waiting to attack them. Now if someone had told Dyrfinna at some point that golems were hulking creatures of stone - impervious to physical attack. She might have been happier about the whole of the mission to come down here.

If dwarves had such advances in darkspawn fighting techniques their own job would be easier and therefore their mortality rate drop.

Branka had been more effected by the poisonous gas than anyone else who was coughing lightly. Part of being a Warden with their higher than natural strengths? Blood spluttered out her lips as the door sealed them in. She drew a blue stick from her belt and rasped the words. "Dulef harn." The golems stopped battering down on Loghain, Alistair and Dyrfinna's shields. Each of them straightened out from their attack, moving obediently into line behind Branka.

Oghren kicked the lever at the side of the room and vents opened, the poisonous gas dissipating and the doors clicked open.

Loghain gathered the Paragon up and carried her into the tunnel ahead. Branka gasped and spluttered. "I'm good. Just can't get that horrid taste out my mouth. Sodding Caridin tried to kill us there."

"How did you make the golems seize their attack?" Dyrfinna stretched out her injured shoulder.

"With this!" Branka held out the bent blue stick as if it were the epicentre of her world. "It controls golems, you won't find it would work for anyone except a master smith. They say the control rods can feel your soul."

"Mad as a bleeding nug tail you are Branka." Oghren snorted a laugh.

"But still quick enough to knock you out with a verbal lashing you stinking pile of-" Branka cut herself off with her coughing.

"Let's keep moving. We need that Anvil now and we have three of these golems to aide us." Dyrfinna cut the argument between the married dwarves short before it could start again. She stretched her shoulder out, strained from the golem attacks. She could see these golems fighting darkspawn already.

* * *

They continued unhindered, the golems following behind with heavy thumping steps. Loghain had fought alongside a golem a long time ago. It had been in command of a mage. For the life of him he couldn't remember the mage's name but the golem stood out as a fine warrior, bedecked in crystals of some sort. Branka wasn't right about being a master smith - but maybe she was right about the soul thing. It was all a hazy subject.

They came into a dark cavern, a huge stalactite of sorts, carved into faces dominating the room. Their lights on their helmets and chests swayed, looking for the trap.

Suddenly the eyes from all the faces on the stalactite flickered into blue, projecting dwarven sized figures out. Swords were drawn but no attack came.

One, a dwarf muscle bound and looking to be wearing a ghostly leather apron, a half shield of sorts over his face was hammering away on a ghostly looking anvil of epic proportions.

The item he was hammering looked like a golem of shining silverite. So this is how golems are made? Forged on an anvil?

The dwarf stood the golem up and pried the chest of it open with a very real sounding squeak and scrape of the metal. A second dwarf clambered inside of the chest before it was closed, welded shut.

The eye holes of the golem were then opened, shimmering pure liquid lyrium from the intense blue glow of it poured in.

There were sonorous screams before a control rod like the one Branka had was tapped on the chest. The screams abated and the lights of the golem's eyes faded, fists curled at the sides.

Loghain was sickened by the sight and in a strange awe. They'd... killed the dwarf inside the golem? He looked to be a willing enough volunteer for the process but those screams were almost as blood-curdling as those of the casteless being branded. Yet the dwarf was now a golem.

"Korth's throne. The strength shown by that dwarf." Finna stuttered out. The ghostly apparitions faded away before a booming voice filled the room.

"There are those worthy of obtaining the Anvil of the Void present." It stated before a door at the end of the cavern clicked open, light blooming and heat like lava blooming through it.

The Warden group followed Finna and Branka through the door.

* * *

Dyrfinna took in the sight of the room. A plateau surrounded by lava, more stone golems flanking a path up to a huge metal one. Behind the black metal golem an anvil, threaded through the silver metal with the blue mineral lyrium that the shaman used to restore their magical energies.

"The sodding Anvil of the Void." Oghren sounded more shocked to see it that she felt by the sight. It was... awe inspiring to see the work of Paragon Caridin, after all this time in the deep roads. They'd only assumed to find a body of Paragon Branka but now - now they had the Anvil of the Void.

The process was sickening to have seen. But that dwarf had done so willingly. If she had known what being a Grey Warden entailed she would have done so willingly. People did horrid things to themselves against evil things like darkspawn.

"Halt!" The black metal golem sprung to life, lightning infused in it's limbs. The voice was booming, resonating deep in her chest. "If you seek the Anvil then I seek to inform you of the great cost it takes."

The whole group was stunned into silence - a golem that spoke? "Well light my farts and call me a torch." Oghren managed.

"Who are you?" Dyrfinna took point.

The black golem turned it's head as if to look down at her, a rusty scrape of the metal in the action and lyrium glowing eyes almost boring down into her. "I am Paragon Caridin, creator of the Anvil of the Void amongst other inventions."

"Bah! That Anvil will be mine." Branka snorted.

"Then intrepid adventurers, know this. No mere smith has the power to create life. For a golem to be born one must take that life from elsewhere. At first..." The golem paused. "At first I worked only with volunteers, each willing to give up their life to save their kingdom. But King Valtor became greedy, forced his political enemies and the casteless to the process. After some time, I objected and was put to the process myself..." The golem Caridin paused again. "Only upon the blow of the hammer did I know the true pain, the cost and empty coldness of becoming as I am. I ask that you destroy the Anvil. None can become as corrupted by it as I was."

"No! The darkspawn spume comes closer by the day to Orzammar! Our last holding of the kingdom is threatened by extinction without the golems!" Branka shouted. Dyrfinna put a hand out the silence the Paragon.

"And how did you retain your mind after becoming as a golem? The ones that follow us do not speak." She gestured to the three behind the warrior group.

"My apprentices knew enough to create a golem but my control rod was ill made. They could not bind me to one." Caridin answered. "I dragged the Anvil as far into the deep roads as possible, hoping darkspawn and my traps would keep all from it but staying vigilant in case any did manage to surpass so many obstacles."

"There is a Blight on." Dyrfinna stated. "The golems are needed. The dwarves face extinction. Who are you to say who will be corrupted and who shan't? Allow the dwarves of this generation to make their own choices as you did."

The Caridin black golem looked almost shocked by her words. "No. Not this evil." He answered. His metallic hands curled into fists and he started toward the group. Lightning building up on her arms.

Dyrfinna almost saw her life flash before her eyes when Branka held the control rod in her hand up. "I am a master smith you insane Paragon! Dulef harn! Golems - put Caridin into the lava!"

The eight golems with the three that already followed moved with speed that couldn't have been possible for stone creatures. They easily managed to pick Caridin up and seemed immune to his attacks of fists and lightning as they carried him unceremoniously dumped him over the edge of the plateau. A hot splash of lava signalling the end of the ancient Paragon.

"That didn't do anywhere near how I expected." Oghren snorted. "Sodding Void though... Branka has the Anvil!"

"And isn't she worth it?" Branka gushed, reverent steps taken toward the item she's sought for so long, stepping up the metal steps to place a hand on the metal, wiping her gauntlet with a faint scrape on it. "My whole house gave their lives for this moment, so many of them lost faith... and here we are."

"Branka, we need your end of this to be fulfilled. We need your word to support out candidate for the throne." Dyrfinna interrupted.

"But I need to make golems!" Branka answered.

"And where will you get your volunteers?" Loghain countered.

"Let me... just use the Anvil. Take some of these golems here - they will sway the most noble of warriors to volunteer, your King you choose will send more as well." Branka touched lightly on the anvil again, laying her silver shield down on it.

Dyrfinna pondered what the Paragon said. "Alright. But I require a show of your word. Something that cannot be forged by any other."

Branka smiled. "Forged eh? How about a crown, with my personal house stamp. I own the only copy of it and I'll engrave my signature in the silverite to boot. Fair enough?"

"I have a question if I may Paragon." Alistair asked. "Hespith... said you were to blame for their deaths. Basically."

Loghain, Oghren and Dyrfinna all put gauntlets to face. Branka chuckled lowly. "I'm sure Hespith blamed me for the deaths of a lot of people. She started the revolt against me that forced me to leave them all. I found her... tainted. It broke my heart to see it but it hardened it. I left her and Laryn in their tainted states, sealed them in a room together. I couldn't kill them even knowing what would happen. We found a broodmother before you see boy."

Silence ensued and Branka took a deep breath. "The room you found me in - had a lot of traps, deadly ones. I had to get out of the way when Laryn started whelping the darkspawn out, the darkspawn broke a lot of the traps for me. All it cold-hearted but I call it pragmatic. They were tainted, it would have happened sooner or later, but by then I didn't have enough in number to go through the traps without the darkspawn doing it for me."

"I understand." Dyrfinna croaked out. "Pragmatic and cruel, you had to do it to save the dwarves with these golems. This evil against the evil of the darkspawn. Even using the darkspawn nature to do what you couldn't so you could ultimately stop them."

"Just... leave me a moment to make this crown Warden and you can get onto saving the world from the Blight. I should have enough golems for when the darkspawn haul back into the deep roads when you end it." Branka sighed, closing her eyes. "We all lose a lot to stop the darkspawn and I'm rather glad you understood my point of view. Paragons bleed for the dwarves, you don't just do something then sit around reaping the rewards of the status."

* * *

Carver, Leliana and Bethany managed to walk through the areas the other Wardens had passed through to find their new commander, Paragon Branka and a huge Anvil. The barrier door had opened a while ago and Mr Rabbit joined them with his slow plod and precious cargo of Commander Lucien and their supplies.

Branka was handing Dyr a crown from what Carver could see. "Take care Paragon Branka, I hope you can stop your bleeding for Orzammar soon enough." He furrowed his brow quizzically at the cryptic statement but thought better than asking about it.

"Hey Hawkling is better now!" Oghren cheered at seeing them.

"Now I wonder why when I have that damned dwarf as company." Carver muttered.

"Wardens Carver, Leliana and Bethany. We are to head back to Orzammar with Lucien's map. He put in charcoal a line directing us to the Legion of the Dead tunnels that should shave a lot of time and effort from our journey. We should take no longer than a few days at most to reach it now." Dyr looked at him with bloodshot eyes, holding the gaudy silver crown under her arm.

* * *

With the Legion forces, headed by the steadfast and snarky Commander Kardol, two golems, the Legion bronto (unnamed) and Mr Rabbit, the Wardens returned to Orzammar in the middle of the night cycle in according to Kardol - five days time.

Bethany had kept Lucien frozen inside his bedroll to prevent the decay of his body from stinking the place but the smell of darkspawn rot and spume had deadened everyone's nostrils worse than most could comprehend that even the smell of the legion supplies and their own were amazing to have when cooked on a campfire, luxuries of stock in stew with herbs and dried vegetables with the dried meats almost enough to make the Wardens salivate.

The Legion moved to their compound in Orzammar, as did the Wardens. There was nothing they could do at this time that would be of use. But come morning they would call all of the deshyrs into the Assembly and sort the problem of the crown out once and for all.

Dyrfinna ordered all to have baths in the Warden compound before sleep. It was going to be interesting for her to try and wade the politics of the dwarves. She had decided on Bhelen, for his attitude toward the casteless. He also seemed pragmatic enough to understand the Anvil of the Void and their need for troops immediately. He would be better for the dwarves to move forward.

* * *

Loghain had never thought he'd miss being able to remove his armour. But upon stripping off and laying in the hot water of the copper tub in the Warden bathing room he felt so at ease, so bloody thankful for the heat of the water massaging into sore muscles and cuts now old and too small for healing magic to have been wasted on it.

He reached for the bottle of elfroot, uncorking it and pouring it into the water, watching as it changed from the reddy-brown liquid to a white fluffy one in the water, the smell of it intense.

He sighed again, slipping under the water briefly before bobbing back up. Loghain laid the back of his head on the lip of the copper tub, closing his eyes. Given a very different life he could have laid in water like this a long time.

Then again he wouldn't have counted on a humming tune that he didn't know to open the partition into the tub section he was in, an incredibly feminine figure backing in wrapped only in a towel with something blue and silky draped on one arm. Only in this life would such a thing happen.

The figure kept on humming, still facing away when she put the silky blue down on the side table, unpacking soaps out of a net.

Then Finna turned around. Loghain wasn't sure why he hadn't said anything. It would have felt rude? "I am such a ninny!" She blushed almost as dark a burgundy as the band over her eyes before she rushed quickly out of the tub section.

Loghain laughed and glanced over at the flimsy silk robe left on the side table. "Stop nicking my word you bloody woman!" There was the sound of sloshing water in the section to his right, the runic light in it on.

He shook his head and sluiced off over the grate on the floor before pulling the plug out of the bath and wrapping his own towel around him. He picked up the flimsy silk robe and knocked on the wooden pole outside Finna's section. "You left your robe in there." He said.

"Could you just throw it over the partition?" Came the reply. Loghain sighed, knowing his luck he'd throw it straight into the bath water and as amusing as seeing Finna wander about in a wet... silk robe would be... Maker's breath someone remove that errant thought out of his head!

Loghain cracked the partition open. "My eyes are closed." He stated as he dropped the robe to the floor and closed the partition again.

* * *

Alistair cracked the bedroom door open after the voice inside bid him entry. He gulped. He could do this. Bethany liked him. Bethany was brushing out her damp black waves of hair in the mirror of the dresser, one side in a plait for sleep. The runic yellow lights of her room muted.

She stood up, that tunic barely covered down mid-thigh on her. He sighed. "Close your eyes."

"You had better not be..." Bethany's cheeks tinged a gorgeous pink, her eyes shut. Alistair walked forward and reached for her hand limp at her side, putting his gift in the dainty fingers.

"You can open them again." He said, hands still cupping hers. She looked down. "Do you know what that is?"

"My first guess would be a rose." She stated, lips pursed and brown eyes sparkling in the dimmed light.

"I can't fool you can I?" He quipped, on hand rubbing the back of his neck in nervous habit.

She took the preserved rose to her nose and gave it a sniff. "It's lovely. How did you know?"

"Er... know what?" He asked.

"Did you ask Carver?"

"Ask Carver what?" He furrowed his brow in confusion.

"That I love roses silly." Bethany chuckled lightly, the sound of it musical. "Oh... hold still Alistair..."

Alistair stayed stock still as Bethany leaned upward on her toes, her hand reaching for his face. Oh great - he had dirt on his face. Not the romantic gesture he'd assumed this would have been then. Almost of a sudden her lips were softly pressed to his, her hand cupped on his jaw.

Alistair pushed back, on instinct alone kissing back, tilting his head to deepen the embrace, his hands naturally settling on the small of her back. They broke after a moment and Bethany looked up at him in his arms, those soulful copper brown eyes shining. His heart leapt in his chest. Maker's breath... "Thank you for the rose Alistair. I'll cherish it."

He laughed softly. "Glad to hear it milady." He stepped backward, untangling awkwardly. "But er... good night. Sleep well."

"I will." She smiled and Alistair almost hotfooted out of the room, his heart still in his throat as he closed the door, leaning back onto it.

Maker's breath she kissed him! Bethany kissed him.

Carver was going to have his guts for garters if he messed this up.


	17. Dragon Warrior - Back in Action

Author note: Out of the deep roads! I'm so happy I could scream! And with the heralding of the end of the first treaty finished know that this is where the truly AU stuff starts. (Other than the Loghain charging at Ostagar and other things...)

Hold on tight campers, it's going to be a bumpy ride!

I'd also like to personally thank a few authors, seeing as they've been wonderful friends in PMs and reviews. **ffdrake, FenZev, Morninglight, Marianne Bennet, Reaver. H, Oratorio, koryandrs, dragonmactir, dominicgrim, Musicalrain **and lastly but not least, the guest also known as **Judy** - who should really make a profile so we can PM back to that lovely reviewer. Every single reviewer deserves hugs, cookies, internets and anything else that's lovely. Like wine.

Wine and chocolate actually - go get some.

Oh - and Bodahn and Sandal... not going to be more than cameos in this story. It makes sense for them to turn up periodically in suitable locations but not as companions/journeying with them. They _are_ merchants.

And when I've finished writing this story I plan on the AU DA2 timeline with Miriam Hawke as well as the prequel of Lucien Amell.

And lastly but not least - the biggest thank you to Gamer-Otaku Takara who did this gorgeous piece of artwork of Loghain and Dyrfinna hugging. It'll be on my profile as I can't put it here... grr FF!

* * *

Dyrfinna wore a clean chainmail gambeson, leather britches and her Warden tabard slung over the top held with a leather belt around her waist. The look completed by the helmet from the armoury for warrior commanders that sat over her skull tight with padding, the straps under her chin and ornate wings of sorts flat from temple to crown of her head.

Protectors of Thedas. The mantle had never felt so real and heavy, the way it had been described to her so long ago bearing more truth than it had before.

Each of her Wardens... that still sounded odd in her head - were dressed similarly except for the lack of helmet.

They all strode through the throngs of dwarves outside the assembly hall, the doors opened to the deshyrs and contenders of throne inside. Thorvald had informed her most days that this was the case and that they would have no need of calling them all here. It sped matters up somewhat.

"Wardens!" The dwarf in the centre of the room greeted them. "I hope your task has been completed now and you bring our Paragon to settle this matter?"

"Steward Bandelor, we've gone and found Branka. And the sodding Anvil of the Void too!" Oghren greeted the dwarf, almost theatrically really. "We fought almost a horde of monsters straight out of horror stories, darkspawn and a broodmother to locate our Paragon. And these Wardens got her voice for our contender to the throne."

"Well that's all well and good saying that." Steward Bandelor sighed. "But where is she?"

Dyrfinna stepped forward, holding the crown Branka had made from he own shield reverently like a relic of the Gods. "Paragon Branka decided to stay in the deep roads with the Anvil of the Void, to keep bleeding her love for the dwarven people in creating golems. She decided to place all trust in our choice, making this crown from her own shield with her house seal and signature to sit upon the head of the King favoured by the Ancestors."

"And we can trust the word of someone who very vocally sided with my contender Harrowmont?" Bhelen looked at their group, his eyes focusing on Loghain. A wordless acknowledgement that they were actually on his side but beforehand publicly sided with Harrowmont.

"On whatever honour you would bestow upon an Ash Warrior." Dyrfinna squared her shoulders back. "The same Ash Warrior being the new Warden Commander of Ferelden, scourge of the darkspawn that threaten Orzammar every day."

Bhelen hmm'ed to that. Harrowmont was positively beaming. Dyrfinna swallowed. "And with that knowledge the Grey Wardens choose Bhelen Aeducan as the King of Orzammar."

All the colour drained off of Pyral Harrowmont's face, his lips moving without sound. Bhelen smirked as he stood, walking down the stone steps into the bowl at the bottom of the assembly to even more shocked whispers around from the deshyrs. Dyrfinna held the crown out and gently placed it on the dwarf's head. "Your sister gave you a very good word too." She whispered. "Officially she is dead though, she does not wish Orzammar politics."

Bhelen nodded subtly an cleared his throat. "My first decree of ascension is to dispose of Pyral Harrowmont for the blood spilled on our streets when we needed a strong King. He will be beheaded forthwith."

Brosca slipped out of the shadows and there was a quick slice of metal on metal followed by a wet crunch of bone and flesh, Harrowmont hadn't even time to speak when his head was rolling down into the bowl where Steward Bandelor, Bhelen and the Wardens stood. "And my second decree will be to reform the armies of Orzammar, allowing any of skill to enter into our bloody battle with the darkspawn, we cannot stand on old tradition when our race is dying. We move forward into the new Age with new ideals, better ideals. This army will march with the Wardens when they call for us - and we will prove our worth to the topsiders! We are not to be ignored in our plight!"

The assembly cheered as raucously as the deshyrs could, most of them clapping politely but the younger of them whooping or whistling. "Thank you King Bhelen. May the ancestors of the dwarves honour your choices." Dyrfinna bowed politely from the hip.

The Wardens were huddled into a side room where they told Bhelen of the Anvil of the Void, what his sister Dharma had said and what Branka needed for golems - the golems that were waiting in the Warden Compound to escort the volunteers through the Legion tunnels to the Anvil itself.

He bid them farewell and passed them his thanks for smoothing his way into the throne. It had been anything but a smooth or easy thing, they had lost their commander doing so. But what was a man known for a short amount of time compared to the entirety of Thedas should the darkspawn take enough women to make broodmothers and taint the popluation?

* * *

The Wardens found themselves in the midst of packing up to head off to the Avvar clans for more aide when a dwarf by the name of General Fellhammer informed them that Commander Kardol had chosen to take the Legion of the Dead to the surface when called for also. He passed them two runes. "Just slap them together and it'll make a gong in the army barracks through to the outposts we have. We'll follow the beacon it sends."

And with that - he was gone as quickly as he'd arrived. "Nice dwarf, friendly." Alistair snorted.

"Well he had to take over reigns of the army when princess from the deep roads killed her brother Trian." Oghren grunted. "You'd be friendly too if you got shoved into some shit like that."

"Most probably." Alistair shrugged. "Stuff like that would make a guy cranky."

"Keep on packing on Mr Rabbit and Greagoir. When we get out of Orzammar we have to do funeral rites and then head to Phoenix Hold." Dyrfinna snapped her fingers to draw their attention.

It had been a long day and lunch hadn't even happened yet. Korth's throne this was going to be a lot of fun.

* * *

They managed their way out of the gates to Orzammar through the hall of Paragons again, both up and down a person in their ranks. Oghren looked vaguely ill as they stepped out into the cloudy day, bright light shining off the snow. Dyrfinna took a deep breath of the mountain air, happier than she'd been in a long time - the light and the sky both a huge comfort.

"According to our maps and the routes along the mountains it should be three days to reach my clan." She stated. "From there we review what information we have and-" She was cut off by a groan. "Something the matter Oghren?"

"Sodding sky, how'd you stand jus' looking at it? It's so sodding far... up!" He groaned, his eyes were unfocused, pointed toward the billows of white cloud above him.

"I like to think of it as a ceiling, placed there by the Maker." Leliana cooed to him. She was a happier person to have her bow and arrows back rather than sword and dagger.

"Did he have to put it so far up then?" Oghren growled.

"The Lady of the Skies stretched her wings out wide and flew up into the expanse above, she settled above the mountains, above the throne of Korth the mountain father. She protects the world from the wrath of fires above that would harm life." Dyrfinna snapped. "Not a ceiling."

"I am so sorry to have barged into your beliefs." Leliana drawled back, her tone almost sarcastic. Dyrfinna and Thorvald both growled.

"You would do well to keep your mouth firmly closed around the clan. We have killed missionaries of your chant tree for trying to convert and mould our people." Thorvald sighed.

"Thankfully I have no primitive fear of the moon that I would pray to any God for appeasement." Morrigan sniffled.

"Will you all shut with the religious clap-trap." Oghren grumbled. "I suddenly don't give a flying fuck what the sky is made of. S'long as I stay firmly on the ground."

"Couldn't agree more dwarf." Carver laughed. "We're wasting daylight anyway."

"Yes. We move on. Now." Dyrfinna clicked her fingers, Mr Rabbit jolted into moving as they started off.

"You're being testy." Loghain muttered to her as she strode in point at the front, his footsteps easily in pace with hers in the deep snow.

"I am anxious to see my clan again and worried about introducing lowlanders to them." She answered. Dyrfinna took a deep breath. "I am sorry if I take it out on all of you though. There is also the matter of having the lowlander... burning. I have no idea how to go about such things."

"I'll get it sorted. I'm sure our resident bard knows the right words, Carver and I can chop the wood if we set from lunch, Bethany or Morrigan can start the fire." Loghain sighed. "It might add some time to our journey though."

"That I can manage if it makes... my Wardens happy to see Lucien off well." Dyrfinna closed her eyes out of reflex as a flurry of snow was brought up to slap against her face. "Korth's throne it is odd to find myself in command of people I hardly know."

"I lead an army of farmers and dog-boys. I hardly knew any of them but they stood behind me." Loghain assured her. "You have the benefit of knowing that ending the Archdemon means we've beaten the darkspawn off the surface. It isn't like they pester people when there isn't a Blight on."

"I suppose you fought an intelligent, or at least well trained warriors when you forged your legend as the dragon warrior." Dyrfinna nodded. "My task should be easier in that respect. Why do you always manage to put things into perspective for me?"

"I never meant to." Loghain pursed his lips in a thin-lipped smile, the edges only affected but it reached his eyes. "Come on then Finna, let's get the Avvar behind this damned cause."

"They will support a fellow sister and if they would not they would fight against the evil the Tevinters left upon Thedas." She looked sideways at the ex-Teyrn. "And must you call me 'Finna'? "

"Yes. It's odd calling you 'Dyr'. When I say it it sounds more like 'dear'." Loghain answered her. "You don't take offence to you?"

"I might, but I prefer gates to fences. Gates open." She managed to say it completely straight faced but Loghain snorted a short laugh.

* * *

Dyrfinna managed to watch and listen to the lowlander funeral rites until they started to burn Commander Lucien. Alistair had said some very touching words about the shaman when he'd been laid out on the unburnt pyre, about how he'd been like a brother more than the taint could lend, telling a humorous story about how they'd once been part of a drinking contest with the Wardens before the Blight.

The painted lowlander had read some words that seemed to resonate with the others regarding moving onto the Golden City and sitting at 'The Maker's side'.

Finally Bethany moved up to start the burning. Dyrfinna and Thorvald retreated to their tents for that part. She couldn't get the picture of the burning faces in Ostagar out of her mind, it was barbaric but such things weren't needed to be said.

It was dark by the time the burning had finished. She sat by the campfire, Bethany and Carver had cooked the nug they'd had in supplies from Orzammar with a cheese and herb sauce.

It was nice, Dyrfinna scraped the last of it out of her bowl, setting it down for washing when they could. "So I punched the little shit in the face, he ran screaming and Miriam actually hugged me." Carver finished off his story. "I'll tell you now, no more boys were stalking my sisters."

"You look out for them. That is an honourable trait to have." Dyrfinna smiled at the young warrior.

"You have to look out for your sisters. You don't get to pick your family, you pick friends but you _have_ to get on with your siblings at least some times." He laughed back. "So Alistair... what was it you said to Bethany? Nice and loud because I feel like embarrassing you both - brother's prerogative!"

"I'm not saying it aloud." Alistair stated, blushing furiously. Bethany was a wonderful pink about her cheeks too.

"Was it something about how my sister was the only light in a place of darkness?" Carver jabbed. Alistair turned completely red, all the way to his ears, his face buried into the cotton of his britches at his knees.

"You're an evil person Carver." Alistair muttered. Oghren spat out a dribble of the ale he'd been quaffing. Dyrfinna could swear the man was naturally knurd and needed a certain amount of alcohol to function normally.

"Oh Ancestor's tits pike twirler. That's the funniest shit I've heard in years." Oghren chuckled, wiping his lips and beard with the back of his sleeve.

"Shut up. You're all evil." Alistair groaned.

"Do you want me to find a goat for you to sacrifice?" Dyrfinna joined the jabbing.

"You're all evil."

"I could get a sheaf of wheat too." Loghain added.

"You too?" Alistair curled smaller into his knees. "I'm a romantic soul!"

"It is sweet lowlander." Thorvald scratched at his stubble. "I have a problem though. Could you teach me these words? It might get the shaman Morrigan from entering my tent late at night - nude as her birth."

Everyone looked at Thorvald as if he'd blasphemed Korth himself. "Morrigan naked? Oh shit cloudhead. I'd do that!" Oghren cheered.

"We are protecting her during the Blight for her mother. I highly doubt it would be a sane choice when her mother could roast one of us alive." He snapped back to the dwarf.

"Blight it man! Wouldn't bother me." Oghren laughed. "So seeing as sparklefingers and pike-twirler are gonna be getting it-"

"Finish that sentence dwarf and you'll taste knuckle for a week." Carver growled.

"I am serious. Morrigan will not abate in her affection based... actions." Thorvald groaned.

"Do her." Oghren stated.

"No."

"Ancestors tits, you're one of those pipe cleaners ain't ya? Normally I can smell those sorts a things but that jus' makes the witch a bit do-lally for keeping on trying."

"What?"

"Not explaining." Loghain slapped his hand over his face.

"Well ya see, when two men think they like to clean each other's pipes one a them bends over and the other sticks-"

"Argh! You're foul dwarf!" Carver chucked a stone at said dwarf who caught it and threw it right back.

"I understand. No... I am no pipe-cleaner. I just do not find Morrigan attractive." Thorvald sighed. "It is normal for such a pairing, the woman much younger than the man in our relationships but... She reminds me of my wife. Her eyes and hair. It would not be fair for Morrigan."

"Oh Ancestors balls, he's worse than the pike twirler!" Oghren groaned. "Don't matter if a girl looks like yer wife, makes it funnier when you're doing 'er, you get to the vinegar stroke, you slap that arse, call out the wrong name and hold on for dear life!"

"You are so crude." Thorvald groaned. Even Alistair was laughing silently at that though.

"I am going to sleep now, I suggest we all sleep soon if we are to make good time to my clan." Dyrfinna stood up and clicked out her shoulders. "Good night Wardens."

A chorus of 'night boss', 'night Dyr', 'night commander' and also a 'night Finna' sounded, making the Avvar woman giggle, shaking her head as she retreated into her tent for the night.

* * *

The nightmares were worse that night, as if Urthermiel was taunting the Wardens ever since they had encountered her in the deep roads.

Most people had gotten up during the night to 'keep watch' despite the wards about the camp, too proud to admit the nightmares were getting to them.

Dyrfinna pulled the silk robe closer, shifting herself on the log and craning her head to look at the stars. There was nothing like the unadulterated view of the heavens in the mountains. Every twinkling light viewable on a night as clear as this, the moon a waxing gibbous, a ghostly light hung in the sky. One eye of the Lady of the Skies - the other being the sun.

"Damnation woman you're going to freeze!" The growl startled her, Oghren had gone to his bedroll a while ago, as had Bethany, Carver, Alistair, Leliana and Thorvald. They all thought to try for more sleep but memories of the broodmother and the Old God of the Tevinters plagued her.

She has thought her only companion this evening would be Asgrim, sleeping curled into her ankles. Dyrfinna looked over in the darkness for something heavy to hit her on the side, padded like a blanket. "I am used to colder conditions than this. It is almost bred into the bones of every Avvar." She shrugged, grabbing and balling the blanket to hurl it back in the direction of the thrower.

The blanket hit her side again and she scowled, her teeth clenched as she turned to see Loghain approaching in his sleeping tunic and britches. "Will you not freeze dragon warrior?"

"I told you to stop calling me that." He answered her.

"My clan will call you such. Or lowlander." She shrugged. "You most danger in the cold is sweat though. If it freezes on your skin you will die."

Loghain sat heavily on the log. "I do know. Now pass that blanket if you're not bothered by the cold."

They sat in the silence, quite content in it before a wind picked up and Dyrfinna pulled the robe closer around her. It wasn't the cold but the wind that bothered her. Loghain sighed, unwrapping the blanket from around himself and holding an arm out with it draped over, much like the arm of a bat. "Get under or you'll freeze. Don't make me call you a ninny."

She smirked to herself, that word made her laugh more than it should. It was almost tame even if she didn't like what it meant when she was called it. Begrudgingly and with the appropriate eye-roll and sigh she scooted along the log, his arm warm around her shoulders and the blanket enclosing around her.

"You're like a damned icicle." Loghain growled. "How long were you up?"

"Since Urthermiel taunted me with the death of everyone I knew." She answered as nonchalant as possible, Loghain's body heat and the warmth of his Warden blood threatening to make her sigh. "You are very warm."

"And you're freezing Finna." Loghain rubbed her shoulder. "Don't you have proper sleeping clothes?"

She quirked her eyebrow at him, her lips pinched into a line. "Do I have to answer that on the grounds I do not sleep in clothes?"

"No." Loghain sighed, shaking his head. "You know I doubted it was actually a Blight until I saw that blasted dragon when I closed my eyes."

"I did too. I had thought Duncan recruited me simply to take me from my clan. I had no idea why myself... but I thought it all a cruel penance from Sigfrost."

Loghain hmm'ed. "I did think it strange that someone who'd rather tell everyone to piss up a rope would join a very... lowlander order." He sniggered to himself and Dyrfinna punched his arm under the blanket.

"Now you steal my word."

"I'm also nicking painted lowlander. And 'chant tree' gets our resident painted lowlander's knickers in a right twist." He laughed softly. "I can't even remember the last time I laughed as much as I do in the Wardens. Thought they were a grim lot."

"None of the Wardens you knew are alive still. Perhaps only the grim ones perished." Dyrfinna shrugged. "So do you feel some trepidation about meeting my clan?"

"I'm dreading the dragon warrior business but hardly."

"I wonder if we should all turn up in armour to depict that we are not to be attacked on sight. But we should see Erlend in his fields lower down the Hold, so he should walk ahead us to forewarn them." She closed her eyes briefly, her head lolling onto Loghain's shoulder. "I miss them all. Leaving again will be so difficult. I almost think that it would be easier to not return."

Her hand reached to her locket and the silver bangle threaded on the chain, lifting it out of the warmth within the blankets. "This holds the first cutting of Thorarin's hair. He was a terrible babe. I would do despicable things to have that time again, almost crying with exhaustion when he was crying all night."

Loghain sighed and pulled her closer. "It's alright." He murmured.

She stifled a sob. She would not cry. Not... not in front of any lowlander. A lump formed in her throat. "I protect him from the darkspawn..." Dyrfinna's voice cracked. "I hate you. Stop comforting me."

Loghain snorted a long breath, holding tight around her shoulders, his hand rubbing up and down on her arm. "It's alright." He repeated.

* * *

Loghain kept an eye on Finna ever since the... crying incident. This was going to be difficult for her to see her family - her clan again and she... he liked her. Something kept to drawing him back to her side, that strong face she put on... and if he was honest the position of command suited her. She was bloody stubborn, outwardly showed strength and it was probably very difficult for her to cry in front of him.

Damn it he wasn't supposed to be thinking about the bloody Avvar woman like that! Especially not in that stupid, flimsy silk robe... damn it again!

Finna happened to look behind her at that moment, a bright smile plastered on her face. "Are you feeling well Loghain? That was a very bad cough."

"Fine." He grumbled.

"You're not letting your age catch you up are you?" Alistair chuckled.

Loghain just growled in response to the young blond warrior. "Stop making Loghain feel old. He is not old." Finna snapped.

"Woah, just lightening the mood." Alistair put his hands up in surrender.

"Alistair, as adorably awkward as you're being, shh..." Bethany patted him on the arm. "It'll get you in hot water."

"There is something wrong here." Finna put a hand out to halt them all. Oghren stumbled into the bronto.

"Sodding Void where'd that come from? Bleugh - looks like a bronto's arse."

"Will you shut it dwarf?" Carver grumbled.

"Both of you. The wards are not up. I should not be able to see the Hold." Finna shouted. "Wardens - I fear something may have happened to my clan. We will have to hurry... please."

Loghain snapped to attention. He'd listened enough to know that Phoenix Hold was attacked by darkspawn shortly before Finna had left them. But something else niggled in the back of his mind about the place they were in. It wasn't a helpful or even a pleasant niggle.

* * *

Dyrfinna almost ran up the paths she had known since she could first walk, striding up poorly swept paths... there was something odiously wrong here.

The paths were always swept, the sheep always in the fields. The wards were kept up and she'd expected to have one of their shaman counteract them or have to enter with Thorvald alone to get Skormr to take them down.

There was smoke coming from the Hold, acrid thick plumes not of chimneys. "Run faster you ninnies!" She screamed back to them. Her clan was in danger, her legs protested the uphill run, a cramp settling in her thighs and her blistered feet sore.

No darkspawn or even lowlander chant tree would harm a single Avvar as long as she could put her ancestral sword in her hand. "Maker's breath, who's pants are on fire!" Carver shouted.

"Yours if you don't run." Loghain shouted at him.

"Sodding... Asschabs to you long legged freaks!" Oghren gasped.

* * *

The sight that met Loghain's eyes was all too familiar, all to painful to see. "Aucun secours d'entre eux!"

It was a nightmare. A silver haired woman in green robes was fighting back with a skillet in hand, bashing the head of the chevalier from behind as he carried her over his shoulder. Finna was at the painted lord's face in a moment, her shield caving his face in from the front as the skillet bashed behind.

The tattooed people were fighting with everything they had, archers in the thatched roofs, some men built like brick shithouses with mauls and swords, flails and shields held by women with scowls that looked etched on their faces.

"Vous monstres!" Their resident Orlesian was firing arrows already at the chevaliers. Loghain had started to hack away already, hadn't the first time been enough for these bastards to realise Ferelden would not cow down to them?

Finna was holding her sword out to the silver haired woman, pulling her dagger off her belt and teaming it with her normal shield.

The silver haired woman took to fighting with both skillet and sword, the green robes whipping with blood, wind and snow as she fought.

Carver had already started throwing that bloody sword of his about with Oghren wheezing and red in the face at his side.

Fire was bandied about by more than two mages... he looked briefly to see a middle aged man and what could have been his daughter from the similarities in nose and eyes, both casting and throwing fire around like it was nothing.

One of the chevaliers looked straight at him that moment, pure fear crossing his made-up face. "Retraite! Ces babarians ont Loghain Mac Tir!" Even he understood that as he beheaded the bastard.

The chevaliers seemed to look over at him at that moment, blood splashed over his face and chest from the damned Orlesian. Similar looks of horror crossed their faces and there was a stampede.

Arrows from thatched rooftops rained down on the retreating Orlesians as they stumbled down the mountain in the direction of their own damned country. Loghain trapped one of the wounded ones under his boot in the snow. "You speak common don't you? Because you're going to squeal like a common pig when you've finished telling us exactly what that bitch Celene is doing."

"Jamais! Je n'ai pas peur de la mort!" And with that Loghain switched his boot from chest to neck, snapping it with a rather pleasing crunch.

"The Dragon Warrior! Korth's throne daughter!" The silver haired woman stopped in her tracks.

"Mother." Finna took a deep breath. "These are the Grey Wardens, and the dragon warrior prefers to be called Loghain."

"You must be?" Loghain had to catch his breath, the air was thinner this far up the mountain, cold and bloody wasn't how he planned on meeting the Avvar clan.

"Nikolina An Inger, Thane of Phoenix Hold." The silver-haired woman did not bow, but nodded respectfully, finger brushing her long hair back. Through the blood splattered on her face he could see a white band tattoo over her eyes like Finna's. "Now who are all these lowlanders daughter?" She turned to Finna, her hands on her hips.

"Mother, as commander of the Grey Wardens these are my troops. The dragon warrior, Loghain Mac Tir, the archers Thorvald Ar Astrid O Odelia and Leliana Larochelle, shaman Bethany Hawke and her warrior brother Carver Hawke, the dwarven berserker Oghren Kondrat and the warrior Alistair whose clanname I do not know. We also travel with the shaman Morrigan An Flemeth from near the Chasind village of Lundar." She gestured at the Wardens in turn.

"Mama!" Loghain's attention was drawn as a straw-haired boy, all knees and elbows tore through the bloody snow and barrelled into Finna's thigh.

* * *

Dyrfinna tried her best not to cry as she bent to her knees, holding her son as tightly as possible, breathing in the faint smell of smoke, cloves and turpentine that meant he'd been in the forge, shearing shed and apothecary recently. Thorarin snuggled into her neck, rubbing his cold nose into her skin, fingers latched into the strapping of her leather and sheepskin jacket.

The lad of seven winters age now held tight to her. "I missed you so much Mama. I have been good for Svien, Papa, Gunnhildr and Grandma!"

"Good lad." She sniffed, ruffling his hair with a free hand. He backed off, scowling as he flattened it back down. Oh how she missed that face when she messed his hair up. "I still wear your bead Thorarin." She held her braid out, shaking the roughly cut bead.

Thorarin hugged her around her middle. He was getting so tall. So much had happened. She had seen Lowenna An Elsa had shown the gift of magic inherited from her father Skormr. Where were most of the clan? "I made the most of them protect those unable to fight." Her mother answered in response to the furrow in her brow as she searched the familiar faces around her.

Dyrfinna was home, it was as if a piece of her was missing until she had come back, a vital limb returned as she held hands to with her son as he blabbered on about how he'd made friends with Lowenna An Elsa and Kjarval Ar Elsa, how big his half sister Katlana was getting and the things he'd whittled in her absence. How Erlend had taught him how to shear a sheep and use turpentine to rid them of fleas and ticks. How Svien had let him pump the bellows in the forge.

"If all the Grey Wardens would follow me? We shall go to the meeting hall for all the bodies to be cleaned up and a mass funeral for the painted lowlanders as well as those lost this battle. Thank you for your aide." Her mother nodded toward 'her' Wardens, her heavy strapped boots wading through the snow, green and brown woollen robes swaying around her knees and her stave picked up from the ground as she walked up the mountain.

Dyrfinna beckoned the Wardens to follow with her free hand. "Come Wardens. We will break with my clan, talk of this painted lowlander attack and see if they will stand with us against the darkspawn."

"Damn right we're talking about the Orlesians attacking. I told Cauthrien to get the boarders secured." Loghain growled. "We might have to go to Denerim and find out what's happening."

"We very well might." Dyrfinna agreed. Asgrim barked.

"You have a warhound!" Thorarin let go of her hand and rubbed his small hands through the scruffy black mabari's fur, the dog taking great joy from the attention. "He's so much nicer than the sheephounds!"

"Asgrim is a fine warrior." She cooed. "But he is a warrior so do not overstress the hound."

"Yes Mama." Thorarin grabbed her hand again. "Are you really the dragon warrior?" He posed to Loghain. "The ballads say you are ten feet tall and breathe fire."

"I don't know about either of those things but I suppose I am. What's your name again lad?" Loghain seemed to smile almost indulgently.

"Thorarin Ar Dyrfinna." He puffed out his chest. "And my Mama is the best warrior from our clan!"

"Too right she is." Loghain agreed. Dyrfinna smiled at the compliment.

"Dyr! Korth's throne!" She snapped her head up to see Svien outside the meeting hall, his great black beard cut shorter than last she'd seen him, the green band of Korth down his face. "I had thought you would not return to the Hold so soon."

"Svien!" She brightened up, running to hug her husband. He backed away slightly and she furrowed her brow in confusion. "Oh... who did you marry?"


	18. As Mad as a Drakonis Hare

Author note: So how AU is this getting? Tis utterly ridiculous! You'll all love this chapter though as I couldn't restrain Magda any more - then she went and did... well you'll see. It was almost angsty - my forte! (pardon the Orlesian)

Love for all reviewers, I hope this is a good chapter as it was a pain in the arse to write. Tahiti Syndrome btw - is a thing that affects people in places of command when they find a place so peaceful and cut off from the world. Hopefully that makes sense. Obviously in Thedas it wouldn't have that name. You'll see a brief glimpse of it.

* * *

Bethany watched as Dyr approached the huge man, arms corded with muscle, heavy leathers and furs covering his torso and a dark green band running down his face, over a large nose and between heavy eyebrows to end in his huge black beard. He looked as if he could bend a sword into a knot twice over and then laugh about it.

It was the almost wounded sound she made when she asked the man who he was married to, and that hit her right in the chest. "Ingrid An Amalie." He had a booming voice that matched his entire aura, he shrugged. "But... that is not my reason for flinching."

Dyr approached cautiously to the man, her hand out. "I wish you only the best then Svien. Ingrid is a fine weaver. Why did you flinch so?"

"They..." The man pointed at the Warden group. "You bring lowlanders to the Hold. They will mar us, turn the Avvar against their own. It is the only way they know."

"These lowlanders have a semblance of honour and good not unlike our own." Dyr straightened her back out. "You would do well to understand that."

"Mama brings the dragon warrior to Phoenix Hold Svien!" Dyr's son let go of their new commander's hand. "Svien - this is Loghain. Dragon warrior, I live with Svien and Ingrid, or my Grandma or my Papa and Heidi and sometimes even Gunnhildr and all my cousins. He's a blacksmith and my Papa is a shepherd." Bethany already thought the boy was adorable, and the spit and image of his mother with his hair and eyes.

Dyr looked over, her face a stoic mask as her son grabbed Loghain's hand and lead the towering ex-teyrn to the Avvar man. "He is still a lowlander." The blacksmith crossed his arms over his barrelled chest. "What is the dragon warrior but another lowlander?"

"Thorarin, go back to your Papa's home for the moment. We have an important meeting with your Grandma to discuss some monstrous things. Scat now young one." Dyr ruffled her son's hair, causing the boy to scowl and flatten it back down before running up the mountain as if he was made of the wind itself. They all watched as the boy knocked on a door and went in before anyone spoke again. "Svien!"

Dyr rounded on the huge man, grabbing him by the furs around his neck and dragging him to her own height (which if Bethany was honest was fairly tall for a woman). "Off me woman." The man growled.

"You... you close minded man! These lowlanders have fought alongside me since I have left. They have honour and kindness, they aided the clan in driving away the painted lowlanders. Now you will be respectful of the people I lead or you can made yourself scarce!" The look on the new commander's face was almost murderous, anger shining in the honey coloured eyes that were set in the burgundy band that bisected over the bridge of her nose.

The man relented after a moment, drawing away. "If you have need of me I will be in the forge." He stomped great tracks through the snow away from them.

"Er... you you want to explain that?" Alistair said, hesitantly. Bethany threaded her arm in his, needing some sort of support walking in this snow. Alistair looked at her, a cute smile on his face.

"Svien..." Dyr started, looking down. "In Avvar tradition if your spouse remarries after the marriage has been ended and no children were born of that marriage it is seen as having never happened."

"Wait... that was your husband?" Carver asked incredulously.

Dyr pursed her lips to the side. "I understand what she tried to say actually. Before this guy got remarried they'd still have been able to call each other husband and wife, but when he did it sort of wiped the slate off on it." Alistair stated, a self satisfied grin on his face.

"Well done Alistair. That was a good grasp of it." Thorvald smiled, nodding.

"Come. My mother is not one for tardiness regarding the painted lowlanders." Dyr sighed.

"Are you alright?" Bethany went to walk in pace with her. The Avvar woman clenched her jaw.

"I am no woman-child in need of coddling." She growled.

* * *

Loghain felt an odd sense of history repeating it as the Thane was unrolling a map on the table, each of them had been given a stein of warm spiced mead and were sipping it, mulling in the meeting hall. It was like he was being dragged around with the rebel army again, this time with different players but still against the same foe. Had time really passed that much?

A tall woman, tousled long mouse brown hair and a long black tattoo running down her face strode in, silverite armour clanking as she placed her greatsword on the weapons rack. Her posture was proud, something he could see in all the people who lived here.

"Dyrfinna! Sigfrost's pelt!" The woman rushed over to Finna, eclipsing her in a tight hug. "We could have used your sword arm last week when the painted lowlanders started their attacks. We think to have driven them off for the moment now."

"Gunnhildr, I am so pleased to see you!" Finna smiled in the embrace, parting back a moment to look at her.

"You look so hale! When last we say you you looked so deathly ill, we thought that the Grey Warden sought to harm you."

"It is a constant battle against the darkspawn. Did you route those that attacked the clan?" Finna asked this Gunnhildr, if he remembered correctly this was the woman with whom Finna was great friends with, who could fire both a bow and use that greatsword.

"As the instructions given us. We sealed the hole in the mountain, Skormr, myself and Torbjorn." She nodded.

"Gunnhildr! Dyrfinna! At the map. We must plan a counter-attack on the painted lowlanders if we are to remove their threat before we place the wards back up." Thane Nikolina snapped her fingers.

Loghain walked to the map-table as well, placing his stein next to Finna's as he leaned onto it. "Who is this lowlander to presume to stand at our table?" Gunnhildr turned a venomous gaze to him and he scowled back.

"This is Loghain Mac Tir." Finna said in a low voice, picking her mug up and watching the fellow warrior, her eyes widening as Gunnhildr took the whole of him in.

"An honoured lowlander then, one that has fought the descendants of the Ciriane before." Her tone was guarded. "Korth honours you in the ballads."

"I try." Loghain shrugged, unsure as to the proper way of responding. It wasn't as if he expected to be welcomed with open arms by these people, he understood why they kept to themselves. If he was honest Finna was a bit odd in the way she seemed to be coping around the Warden group.

"This is no time for our hatred of lowlanders to cloud judgement." Thane Nikolina snapped, her palm hitting the table and the leather band that held her bloodied silver hair back slipping over an ear. "We use what allies we have here to strike back these barbarians while we can."

He heard the chuckle behind him that was completely Alistair and Oghren. Thorvald glowered behind him and the chuckling was cut short.

"How many archers and those trained with spears do we have?" The Avvar man asked.

"If my clansmen cannot throw a spear they can fire a bow." The Thane answered coldly. "Daughter, what skills do your Grey Wardens have?"

"We mainly have infantry, Wardens Leliana, Thorvald and Loghain can all fire bows well and Warden Bethany is an accomplished healer. Morrigan is a shaman with undeniable skills in the old magics as well as formidable offensive magic."

He could actually hear the way the marsh witch approved of the offhanded comment. "We have the advantage of height." Loghain pointed out. "I may have an idea if you'll hear me out."

* * *

Dyrfinna and Loghain were marching down the mountain, a small band of her clan numbering at three behind them, weaponry basic and their armour hidden under thick furred coats. She could hear the accented whispers of the painted lowlanders as they approached.

The plan was to draw them out, thinking they could gain a victory in slaying Loghain with only a 'a few barbarians' at his side. Then the clan would tear down the mountain from behind the wards, magic and projectile weaponry.

"Loghain Mac Tir! Sortez-le!" The shout came and a battalion of painted lowlanders in heavy silver armour, purple tabards with ornate detailing roaring out on horse-back, lances and swords readied.

The two Wardens and their 'guard' stood their ground when Dyrfinna put her arm up to seemingly grab her shield from the strapping on her back.

They both crashed onto the ground, trusting their heavy padding and armour to protect them as the first spears and arrows came through the invisible barriers of the wards.

She kept her eyes on the hooves approaching and saw the flames consume a rider, falling off his horse to be trampled beneath the hooves of his comrades. "C'est un piège! Les barbares nous ont pris au piège!" The shout came as the painted lowlanders realised that Gunnhildr and the Wardens had used the treeline and a portable ward around them to get behind the painted lowlanders.

The clan came out of the barriers of the wards, magic and spears thrown. Dyrfinna grabbed her sword as Loghain was standing up. Skormr put a barrier up around them as they stood and dropped it when she gave the brief signal with her thumb.

Then they attacked while the painted lowlanders were stuck between the Wardens and the clan.

* * *

Bethany ran around healing. So much healing. It was providence they'd brought a small fortune in lyrium from Orzammar, gifted by King Bhelen before they left. Morrigan was not gifted in the healing arts whatsoever - being tasked to handing out potions and poultices to those in need, her lip curled at 'such a mundane task'.

There was a young mage, gingery blonde hair and a staff with a cresent moon on top running about after her, trying to heal too. It was so sweet how the girl wasn't ashamed of her magic. "So your father was a shaman also?"

"He was." Bethany cast another healing spell as she removed the arrow from Gunnhildr, she'd been amazed how the Avvar woman had fought - and that had come after fighting alongside Dyr for a while now.

"My father is a very powerful shaman, but he can heal only a little bit. Will you stay and teach me?" The girl asked. She tried to mimic the spell but it flickered out.

"I have to stay with the Wardens. But I could leave one of my books with you?" Bethany answered, smiling.

The girl beamed back. "You are a very nice lowlander." Then she rushed off, white fur coat getting lost in all the white of the snow.

"You gained the respect of Lowenna An Elsa very quickly." Gunnhildr smiled at her. "And mine. You are a skilled shaman... what is your full name?"

"Bethany Hawke."

"No... the name of your mother."

"Er... Leandra."

"You are a skilled shaman Bethany An Leandra O Hawke." Gunnhildr closed her eyes. "There is another arrow in my thigh. Korth forsaken painted lowlanders."

* * *

Dyrfinna closed her eyes, opening the door of her old house. It had stood abandoned since she had left the clan, a fine dust in the air. Thorarin was at Erlend's house with Heidi and Katlana this evening and it was likely they would be leaving soon.

This crushing pain filled her, not from the maul that had struck her ribs or the flail that had caught her stomach but a horrid emptiness. This was her own doing. The Wardens would need somewhere warm to sleep though and Hakkon temper her this would be as good a place as any. She started to light candles with a match and picked up a few logs for the hearth.

The painted lowlanders had been routed by the plan formulated by Loghain and the clan was safe. For the moment. They would realise this attck on her clan had not been successful, or perhaps this was just part of an invasion to Ferelden.

She kicked a log back into the stone hearth, annoyed with herself. It wasn't as if her presence would have protected the clan but she still felt guilty. Protector of Thedas was her mantle. Damn it!

"Copper for your thoughts?" Loghain announced his arrival in the room. Dyrfinna slumped, her adrenaline slowing from the battle earlier.

"No." She kicked the log again because it kept on falling of the grate. Blasted thing. She shrugged her sheepskin and leather jacket off, rolling up the bilious sleeves of her tunic and kneeling to the hearth, propping the log properly.

"You volunteered for what could easily have been a suicide mission." Loghain said plainly. The question as to why hanging in the air.

"I failed my clan. I should have been here still." Dyrfinna growled and shoved the log, a splinter embedding in her palm. She huffed and flopped back onto her ankles, wiping her fringe from her face and squinting at her palm.

Using her teeth she grabbed the end of the thick splinter and pulled it out. "Explain yourself Finna. Tell me exactly how you seemingly failed your clan." His tone was reprimanding and she glowered in his direction.

"I cannot." She clenched her jaw and sighed. "Why would you walk straight into the painted lowlanders?"

"Because they'd like to kill me?" Loghain chuckled bitterly. Dyrfinna scowled at the log one last time before standing up, surveying the bruises on her arms in the flickering candlelight in her house. It would not be a warm welcome for her Wardens then.

What an utter failure she was. "What do we do from here?" She asked the question, not caring for an answer.

"We have a line. We have our boarders. We defend it." Loghain answered.

Dyrfinna mulled that over. What a time for them to attack. The darkspawn would be attacking too and their main weapon was the taint, she couldn't allow the tainted nature of the Tevinters via these darkspawn to spread more than she could let her clan and Ferelden get attacked by the painted lowlanders. "I have an idea."

"I'm all ears." Loghain sat down on one of the dining chairs and shucked off his gauntlets, that intense icy glare at the wood of the table.

"We have a treaty to gather the shaman of Ferelden against the Blight. We teach them the warding spell and have them patrol over the boarder with the Avvar, blocking the painted lowlanders from entering into the country. We find out what happened to your army, gather them."

"Then the army and the mages are fighting the Orlesians." Loghain hmm'ed. "That leaves us with two mages against the Blight and that damned Archdemon looks like a stubborn bastard, how are we going to bring that down?"

"With griffons?" Dyrfinna snorted, as if the answer was obvious.

"Griffons are extinct. You must know that." Loghain looked derisively over at her before going back to the staring at the table.

"They inhabit a cave higher up the mountain. I have seen and ridden a griffon before. I know griffons are not extinct." She answered him. "If Skormr can teach Bethany the spell to make the beasts docile we can ride to the home of the shaman, gather them while my clan is trying to secure the boarder then put them to work on this while we find out what happened to your army."

"You forget they scuppered at Ostagar." Loghain grumbled.

"Ah... yes." Dyrfinna furrowed her brow. "It feels as if the painted lowlanders attacked now while we are set scrambling against the darkspawn on purpose."

"Easy target, there was word of a civil war when we left Ostagar and the darkspawn have dwindled the number of our armies. The country is divided." Loghains hand covered his face as he sighed. "Damned bastards couldn't give us a moment to breathe."

"What would be their gain of a country should the darkspawn overwhelm us?" She stated rhetorically, seating herself next to Loghain and joining him in the melancholic feeling.

"I don't think they even care. If they finish off the darkspawn for us backwater peasants they'll claim Ferelden is too... damn it." Loghain groaned.

"Loghain!" He sank further into his hands at the grating voice of their resident painted lowlander. Leliana burst into the room, waving a piece of vellum in the air. "They were attacking the Avvar in the name of the Chantry!"

"What!" Dyrfinna stood up abruptly, her chair shoved violently from standing to on the floor. "They can die in a pyre!"

"Give." Loghain put his hand out for the vellum and Leliana handed it over chewing her lip. "I can't read this blasted language. I barely understand enough to make sense of what's happening on the field."

"It says the Divine has called for the chevaliers to assess the Avvar barbarians living in the Frostback mountains to convert them to Andrastian religion. This is not the first clan to have been attacked, it is one of many." Leliana explained.

"Thorvald's clan!" Dyrfinna slammed her palms into the table and jolted Loghain. "This is not against Ferelden but against us! they seek to cow the Avvar as the last of the true Ferelden!"

"Or the fact you have mages." Loghain groaned, he unbuckled his chestplate and lifted the side of his tunic to reveal mottled purple bruises up his side. "Damn it, I didn't think it was that bad."

"Imhar's laughter!" Dyrfinna's eyes widened. "Get Bethany, now Leliana."

"Get a poultice, Bethany's busy." Loghain snapped.

"I have a poultice here somewhere. Inform the Wardens and my mother of this... through Thorvald if you wish to keep your head upon your shoulders." Dyrfinna walked quickly to under the cabinet under the basin and picked up the brown bottle, uncorking it and sniffing the potent liquid within.

Leliana hesitated before rushing out with the vellum in hand. "As if we didn't have enough on our plates. The Maker has the worst sense of humour." Loghain sucked in a gasp of air when Dyrfinna rounded on him, a cold wetted rag with some poultice soaked into it used to wipe on his abused side still exposed.

He glowered at her and she shrugged. "Imhar has the worst humour." She said softly, squeezing the rag and re-applying some of the brown liquid to the rag and brushing it on his ribs.

"If you think this is funny you do." Loghain growled. Dyrfinna chuckled lightly. "So glad to see my pain is your pleasure."

"Hold still. You should remove your tunic properly." She sighed and went to move back to pick up the chair. She put the rag and the bottle of potent elfroot on the table.

Dyrfinna sat, rolling her sleeves back up as Loghain removed his armour and tunic, wincing as he caught something. Unthinking she watched in the flickering light of the candles as more bruised skin was exposed. She blushed, realising that despite the purple, black and almost grey mottled affect, edged with yellow in places his torso was well defined, thick black hair lining him from collarbone to navel and under the band of his greaves.

Korth's throne. She busied herself with fetching linen bandages.

* * *

Loghain felt a vague discomfort in removing his armour that wasn't to do with his bruises. That damned woman looked at him. And he found himself liking the blush that bloomed on her cheeks as as hurried off, bring swatches of gauzy fabric back.

"Sigfrost's pelt!" He turned with a shot of pain to see the fabric hit the table, Finna grabbed the rag and bottle, dousing it in the strong smelling elfroot concoction and kneeling down at his feet, reaching very carefully to brush the rag on his ribs.

He sucked in a breath that was nothing to do with the cold liquid touching the throbbing bruises and much more to do with the fact she was practically bent over his lap. Loghain closed his eyes, gritting his teeth at the ministrations. "You know I didn't ask you about the Orlesians when I asked almost volunteering for death."

Finna hmm'ed and wiped back a portion of her fringe. "Your question was then..." She trailed off, fixing her honey eyes on the wet sweeping of the rag and the lightening bruises.

Loghain took a deep breath, grimacing at the tight swell of his chest as his lungs filled. "Your husband." He stated, it hung in the air like a smoke. Finna didn't say anything as she put the bottle and rag back on the table, sitting back on her chair with a click of her knees.

"Svien?" She said the name so softly it was less than a whisper. "He is remarried, my own marriage to him... was ended when I left Phoenix Hold. Null and void for our lack of children together."

She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. "I... shouldn't have asked." Loghain looked away, unsure what to do with a woman very obviously upset.

"I am happy he found someone. I would hate him to mourn me." She stated with a sigh, Finna grabbed the rag. "You bruises will not heal any time soon though."

She bent back down and went to put the rag to his bruises again when he caught her hand in his. His icy blue eyes met her honey coloured ones. Loghain gulped. "Don't sell yourself short." He barely whispered it to her, his throat raw as if it was difficult to speak.

"I am worth my sword arm and my shield now." She stated, venom edging her voice. "My purpose is to destroy darkspawn. Why should I wish for anything other than the mantle foisted upon me?"

Loghain growled. Damned woman couldn't understand she was more than a Grey Warden, more than a warrior. Her lips parted as if she was going to say something but couldn't put it in words. "You're worth a lot Finna, never doubt it."

She looked away last moment. "You need bandaging." She picked up the gauzy bandages and dabbed the softer fluffy ones with the brown liquid, holding them on his torso as she wound the bandages around him.

"Finna..." Loghain trailed off, inexplicably unable to say something even vaguely comforting.

"I shall get the Wardens. There are bedrooms down the hall, if Bethany, Leliana and Morrigan share a room with me you men can sort out in the other ones." She stood up and wiped elfroot smudged fingers on the cuirass that held under her breasts. Maker's breath he wanted to go after her, make her feel better.

Why? Why did he want to?

Damn the Maker for putting this woman in front of him. On impulse he stood up and crossed the room in two quick strides, ignoring the shooting pains that spiked in his chest. Finna turned around, almost pressed into the door, her gaze locked on him.

Loghain decided. He cupped her jaw in his hands and kissed her, lips meeting hers forcefully at first before the gesture softened, Finna's lips responding to his, warm hands reaching up between them and gently holding behind his neck.

They parted with a wet pucker and his hands hand found themselves at the small of her back. She breathed heavily in his arms, lips plumped and parted. She closed her eyes and leaned her head forward, her forehead hitting his collarbone softly. A warm breath snorted out of her nose over the bandaged planes of his chest. "Why?" She asked, her voice cracked.

"You're as mad as a Drakonis hare." He muttered, just holding her in his arms, feeling the steady breathing and the warm thrum of her blood calling to his.

* * *

Bethany almost collapsed, lyrium shaking in her system and sloshing irritably in her stomach. Maker's breath she knew how unthinking Dyr and Oghren usually were in battle but this was ridiculous! Over half the people here needed healing magic, especially the Wardens who'd met the Orlesians blade to blade. Carver was stupid enough to nearly have had his arm removed by an Orlesian blade.

The Avvar were hardy though, recovering quickly and bodies picked up and identified.

The Orlesian bodies were piled near the base of the mountain and the mage Skormr set them on fire from a distance, a grin lighting up his face. The Avvar bodies however were laid out in shrouds, twelve of them on a stone dias surrounded by wooden totems. The frost edged on them and she remembered the way Thorvald and Dyr had been repulsed by their own funeral rites. What did the Avvar do then?

They burned the dead so Fade spirits couldn't possess the dead and become walking corpses. It was important - where there was a lot of death it could sometimes tear the Veil to the Fade and demons could easily possess bodies both living and dead.

Dyr's mother... Thane Nikolina? walked about, a wooden stave like a walking stick as she picked her way around like a mountain goat, getting the clan together.

She watched from her lyrium enforced sleepiness as the clan seemed to gather around. From her place she could barely see it until an axe was raised and a distinctive slice of flesh sounded. Did they just?

Her eyes widened, bile coursing up her throat. "Maker's breath they cut him up!" Leliana hissed. The bard had barely spoken around Phoenix Hold due to the circumstances, Dyr had explained that the archer was a descendant of the Alamarri and not the Ciriane but sounded the opposite. That had stopped the most of the glaring.

The Avvar still kept their eyes on them though.

"Tis just what they do." Morrigan sniffled. "If you have need of me... I shall be about." And with that the golden-eyed apostate turned into a bird with a flash of light, flying up into the dusky sky.

"That would be why Thor and Dyr don't like cremations." Alistair nodded knowingly. "and why Dyr held a dagger under the Revered Mother's neck." He furrowed his brow. "Does anyone else get the feeling we're really not welcome here?"

"Well yeah." Carver snorted. "But I saw the way the Revered Mother looked at Dyr. Bloody woman called her a heathen. I haven't even seen mages get those sort of glares."

"You know it is rude to speak of people when they happen to not be present." Dyr was standing with hands on hips, a soft woollen shawl drawn around her shoulders despite just being in leather britches and tunic.

"Maker's breath! It can't be possible to sneak up on people in snow." Alistair smirked.

"Yeah it is..." Oghren blinked blearily at the new commander. "Hey boss. You get taller?"

"You are sitting Oghren." Dyr answered the dwarf, her face stoic. "My house has warmed now, the women will be sleeping in my room but the men will be in Thorarin's old room and the spare room." She nodded to them and walked back in the darkening evening, the glint of snow was blinding and Bethany put a hand up to her brow to make sure they were going to the right place.

The black mabari padded after her in the snow, shaking clumps of the white flakes from his fur before entering the scrub wooden building.

"Did you see Loghain?" Alistair asked. "I swear he was here somewhere and I reckon even he needs to sleep sometimes."

"He is already in Dyr's house." Leliana answered him.

* * *

Alistair couldn't help but stare at the house. It was like a picture of the old fashioned houses in children's tales. It was mainly a wooden cabin but much larger, a stone hearth and fire dominating one side of the house, a kitchen with dining table on the other side, comfortable low seats in a living space and a corridor forward that Dyr said lead to the three bedrooms of the house.

Morrigan - that sneaky witch - had decided she was roosting in the thatched roof like a bird so they didn't have to think about looking after her tonight. Really - as annoying and bitchy as she was it wasn't a difficult task that Flemeth had given them in looking after the witch.

The Wardens all crowded in the house, Leliana knelt by the hearth with her bowl of stew, Loghain and Dyr were at the table, Bethany and himself on one of the bench-like chairs, Carver, Oghren and Thorvald in chairs opposite.

"Maker's breath!" Alistair exclaimed, swallowing his mouthful of stew and staring down at the brown gravy and meat. "What is this?"

"Mutton, wild onion, potato and Avvar herbs with mead and stock to make the gravy." Dyr answered him. "Why?"

"You can go on cooking duty is why." Carver snorted.

"Commander and cook? Must I wipe your mouths after eating too?" She smirked.

"Hey - I can cook too ya sodding cloudheads." Oghren grumbled, his tongue flicking out to lick a dribble of gravy off his plaited beard and lips.

"Not in my kitchen." Dyr chuckled. "We should make a rota, to keep it in fairness for the cooking, latrine and tent setting duties."

"Can we have songs about the campfire?" Leliana asked, brightening with an earnest smile.

"You sing?" Carver looked over at the bard, an eyebrow raised.

"Every... bard can." She glanced at Loghain as she said that but the ex-teyrn merely rolled his eyes, getting back to eating his own bowl of stew. "And you all know I play the lute."

"Why not? I assume you know more than songs of the painted lowlanders." Thorvald shrugged. "I can... sing when given enough mead."

"We all sing when we're pissed outta our skulls." Oghren sniggered silently.

"Your songs would be crude." Thorvald sniffed in the direction of the dwarf.

"You bet your arse they are." Oghren laughed.

The Wardens broke off into separate conversations after that, eating and drinking before heading to the bedrooms. Alistair found himself having to share a bed with Thorvald, Oghren collapsed at the foot of the bed in his tunic, snoring already and dribbling.

Bethany had given him a peck on the cheek before she headed into Dyr's room and he felt warmed by the kiss, smiling like an idiot as he bundled the cover over himself.

"You love the shaman." Thorvald muttered on his side of the large bed.

"I..." Alistair's throat was dry, thinking about Bethany and her waves of hair, her soft lips on his - that sweet smile that seemed like it was just for him.

"You do. I wish you happiness - she is a sweet girl but know that should you hurt her it would not only be Carver blackening your eye."

Alistair shifted and stared, mouth agape at the Avvar man. "Huh?"

"She is akin to a daughter, innocent but carries strength she does not know she has." He explained. "Hurt her and-"

"Oh great, now I have her brother and her pseudo-father watching me like hawks." Alistair quipped, laughing softly at his own pun.

"I mean it." The man with the green tattoos on his face growled.

"I'm sure you do." Alistair sighed. "I just think it has to be a dream. Why would Bethany even like me?"

"Do not question your worthiness of her. Make yourself worth her love." Alistair was shocked at the wisdom in his words.

"I... I will." Alistair promised, gulping. And he would try. Maker damn him he would try. "Er... sleep well Thor."

"Thorvald." The man sleepily sighed. "I hate my name to be shortened."

"Gotcha." Alistair nodded into the pillow.

* * *

Dyrfinna put the fire out in the hearth with a heavy, flame resistant blanket over it. Skormr made them because he knew how to weave magic into the cloth.

She glanced behind her to see Loghain still at the table, staring out the window at the kitchen. "I believe the expression is 'copper for your thoughts'." Dyrfinna smiled to herself, padding softly over.

"They're trying to undo everything I did." He answered her, knowing he didn't have to explain who 'they' were. She settled in to her seat, following his gaze at the trees they could see from the window. The wards were up and they should remain safe for the night.

"War is never over. There are moments one believes there is peace, when the blood is not openly shed but war never ceases." He glanced at her, those icy blue eyes boring into her.

"You're right. I'm worried though. I told Cauthrien to secure the boarder. What's that woman doing with my army?" He growled, pursing his lips.

"We shall find out. The Thane agreed to stand with us against the darkspawn and my plan with setting the wards along the boarder. They will tie the magic to marker stones so they can move along the line and keep the painted lowlanders from invading. She disapproves of having lowlander shaman who retreat in battle to aide her though."

"So to Denerim? Find out what Cauthrien is doing?" Loghain sounded more worried than he let on. The silence was comfortable after his words.

"You could just stay here with your clan and never know what's happening in the world. It's so quiet." He almost whispered it.

"It is. You would hate it after some time." Dyrfinna smiled, moving to hold his hand laid out on the table in her own, the warm fingers instinctively curling to hold her hand.

"Would I really?" He wondered aloud. "I suppose I might, but it's oddly peaceful."

"Only today we drove painted lowlanders away." She reminded him.

"Oh... there's something about this place that makes you forget - forget there's anything attacking."

"And then what use would two warriors like ourselves have?" She smiled indulgently. "The Thane only has us know how to fight because of her paranoia regarding lowlander attack. It has served us well but remember the most of my clan are not warriors or archers."

"Hmph... it's late though and I miss sleeping in a bed somewhat. Who do I have to share with?"

"Carver and Asgrim." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, light stubble grazing her lips. "Sleep well Loghain."

"You too Finna." Loghain sighed and stood, clicking his back out. "I've realised something by the way."

Dyrfinna hmm'ed. Loghain went to open his mouth when he suddenly tightened it in a grim line, looking away. "What did you realise?"

"Nothing. Just... an observation." Loghain shrugged and walked heavily toward the room she'd shown him earlier.

Dyrfinna wiped a hand under her fringe, rubbing small circle into her forehead. How had this particular lowlander managed to get through to her? Managed to nestle until she couldn't imagine what the world would seem like without him in it - if just to talk to.

Even if sometimes talking to Loghain was like pulling teeth. Absently, she felt the gap at the back of her mouth where pink gum had healed over the lost tooth. Dyrfinna was more than confused but wanted to understand. Sigfrost help her understand exactly why Loghain had kissed her, the gentleness of his touch tempered with a forceful passion that had nearly left her breathless when it had happened.

And now this warm intimacy they had shared, being able to rely on the other was at odds because Loghain had been unable to say something.

So much had happened, she had found herself cast adrift by Svien, volunteering for what she had assumed would be death against the painted lowlanders and then this odd period of survival. She lived.

This would have been so much easier if Loghain were Avvar as she. Things would be simple, as she'd always known them. This was unknown and claimed something different, something that hadn't been there before.

It had been one kiss, likely given to assure her she was still alive and human. But there was something behind it and she couldn't deny that. Could he?


	19. Let Them Eat Orlesians

Author note: I told you my blasted muse couldn't keep them apart! Magda is terrible sometimes but she is being very good with writing so I forgive her.

Now to have some huge angsty moments between Loghain and multiple people - twas all Magda's idea! Enjoy. Love for all reviewers, readers, followers and those who place this story in their favourites. Don't lurk people - tell me what you think, good or bad!

Many thanks to **dragonmactir** for her idea on Zevran's assassination contract, the phrases 'piss up a rope' and eventually 'roll in the mud and finger yourself'. Just thought I'd say thank you now.

* * *

Loghain couldn't sleep for love nor money with Carver snoring and the damned mabari rifling around in the bed - as restless as he felt.

But it wasn't the darkspawn that kept him up. Or even damned Orlesians. They had a plan, it was going to be put to work, not a brilliant plan because of the mages having to be neutral - they likely would give no aide on the front of Ferelden despite a treaty against the Blight - but the thought of the Avvar gathering together to protect the boarder until his army could get their arses into gear soothed him a bit. Quite arbitrary was how he felt over all that at the moment.

Thane Nikolina had been over shortly before Finna had gone to bed, she was heading out tonight with a compliment of warriors to gather the other clans and having all the civilians moved to Phoenix Hold.

_Finna_. There, he allowed himself to think about her again. He'd kissed her, and damn it all she kissed him back before she'd almost stumbled out of the scrub wooden house to gather the Wardens.

He'd realised the problem though. He was a stand in, Finna couldn't want to have some cantankerous fool like him hanging around her - she wanted someone like her husband that had discarded her like some piece of refuse. He'd been a stand in before - or felt like it sometimes. And damn it he couldn't stand the feeling of it.

Loghain threw the covers off him, Asgrim wriggling under them until he poked a wet black nose out, sniffing cautiously in the air. He'd known he might have died today, it could have been an easy thing to die, much easier than living by far.

Then_ - "I shall accompany Loghain. They will see the ploy if he attempts this on his own." _And it was his undoing. It wasn't her battle, possibly to protect her clan - but to die for them? He wasn't dying for them, he wasn't dying for anyone if it worked.

Of course he could have but it wasn't as if he'd wanted to particularly. Then there was a woman, beautiful and standing by his side against Orlesian chevaliers. She'd not shown an iota of fear against them and followed the plan to the dot, had fought with strength he hadn't seen up close like that for a long time. At least - not in the light of day.

Blasted woman. What had she done to bewitch him so? He groaned, pulling on his tunic over his bandages and wrigging his boots on.

Loghain quickly shuffled out the room, shushing the mabari.

It was dark and he made his way by the dim light lent through the windows to slip out of the back door into the chilly night, sitting on the porch. He craned his head to look at the stars. He'd heard Finna talking with Bethany once when the two women were awake because of the darkspawn dreams.

They'd been laying on the grass on their route up to Orzammar, pointing out the constellations when she'd said there was nothing like the view from the mountains. Loghain saw that, the unfettered view of the heavens as they rolled out, pale clouds lining over the scattered stars and the moon lighting like a ethereal orb.

Loghain sat on the back porch longer than he was really aware, watching in the darkness when a cacophony of bleats woke him from the lull. He looked across the snowy ground to see large woollen figures trundling through the soft flurries, the orange glow of the sun rising backing them up as two hounds that looked more wolf than mabari and a tall shepherd with a crook followed after.

"Top of the morning to you lowlander!" The shepherd pulled a whistle from his chest and sounded it, the dogs barked back and carried on herding the sheep past the houses - probably to the fields lower down the mountain if it was his guess. Loghain put his hand up to his brow, squinting to see as the shepherd walked over, long brown coat occasionally catching on his crook.

"One of the Avvar deigns to speak to a lowlander without cajoling?" Loghain said amusedly. The shepherd sat down with a click of his joints and it was only up close that he could see the white hair that threaded through his icy blond hair, laughter lines around his mouth and eyes, a wide yellow band crossed over his face over his mouth and Loghain wondered why the tattoos were all different. He might ask one of these days - if only to know.

The shepherd had a winning smile that was almost infectious. "I might lowlander, you happen to stand with one of our finest."

Loghain rolled his eyes, of course the shepherd knew Finna, her husband had been one - likely under this man, this man being the master and his first husband almost like an apprentice. They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the dogs go about herding the sheep. "So what brings you to be awake in this Korth forsaken early hour?"

"Darkspawn nightmares." He lied quickly. With the welcome so far he doubted this man would think very highly that he was so bloody enraptured with one of his clan.

"Ah, I hope Dyr is coping with them then. I remember the circles she had under her eyes after the birth of Thorarin." The man nodded. Loghain glanced over at the man again, he seemed very, knowledgeable about Finna. It could be from knowing this was a tight-knit community but it was more likely that it was sleep deprived lunacy that made him ask the next question hat formed in his mind.

"What do you know about Dyrfinna?" He used her full name, it sounded odd in his mouth after so long of shortening it.

The shepherd snorted softly, his grin back on his face. "I know she carries a lot of love for us." He nodded. "She is hardy like the mountains and compassionate about becoming something more than the sum of her parts."

Loghain raised an eyebrow at the open compliment and hmm'ed, the silence encompassing the pair for a while.

"You are not here to speak of Dyr are you? You are the dragon warrior and the painted lowlanders attacked our clan." The shepherd broke the silence again. Loghain looked sideways at the man who needed to fill the silence.

"I want to know why." He said aloud. It seemed ridiculous that the Chantry was out to get the Avvar clans, and using chevaliers to get them when he was sure there would be slavering templars willing to get their hands on the Avvar mages that were Ferelden born. This felt like a counter-attack for something and it was a strange gut feeling.

"With our Thane on the task they should not attack again. We will gather the shaman to tame the wild griffons atop our mountain for you Wardens and will be placing as many warriors as possible to defend the boarder."

"How did you know that?" Loghain asked, this shepherd was more like a bloody spy.

"My son was visited by his grandmother before she headed off to do the securing of the boarder." The shepherd shrugged.

Loghain's mouth went dry when he realised what had just been said. It made just a little too much sense not to be true but... this man had been Finna's first husband? "You know my name and I don't know yours." He tried to keep his tone neutral but just a hint of incredulity had sneaked in.

"Oh, yes." The man smiled and stood, using his crook to click his back and knees. "Erlend Ar Myrun. It has been a pleasure speaking with you but I have my sheep to tend. Good day."

The man walked off into the snow, following the tracks of the sheep and dogs. The shepherd was easily as old as himself. The errant thought that Finna might be more... attracted... to older men crossed his mind. It was a strangely warm feeling - that perhaps he wasn't just a stand in for someone but just himself.

* * *

Dyrfinna yawned, padding the rug before the hearth to start the fire, the early morning chill suffused into the air and giving her breath a smoky look as she huffed it out. Waking early was something that came easily to her.

Once the fire was started she moved with habitual movements to the kitchen, filling a pot with water pumped the day before and dropping the tea herbs into it, carrying the wrought pot to the fire and hanging it upon the hook above the crackling and popping fire that licked the heavy base of it.

It was like nothing had changed, the past months of fighting darkspawn in horrid underground tunnels with barely any light and the deaths of every senior Warden in the country almost like a fevered dream.

She glanced out the kitchen window to see Erlend walking down the mountain. That was odd - normally he would have already taken the sheep down the fields.

"Maker's breath Finna." She turned quickly, catching her hip on the dining table, pain shooting in the joint momentarily.

"Loghain?" She asked, gritting her teeth and rubbing her hip through the silky blue robe she'd thrown on and slept in last night. Bethany and Leliana were still sleeping in her room, tired since the battle yesterday.

"I just met your first husband." He stated, his gaze directed out the window. Dyrfinna hmm'ed. "He seemed... friendly."

"Erlend was my sunshine in the snow." She smiled indulgently. "What happened? You look harried."

"It's odd." Loghain furrowed his brow.

"What is?"

"I've met two men who were your husbands."

"Ah." She nodded. Lowlanders might find that odd seeing as their traditions meant a man and woman were only parted by death or a thing called 'divorce'. She'd known Loghain had previously been married, it hadn't troubled her in the slightest to know. Everyone was capable of loving and finding more love.

"He still loves you." It was almost an accusation the way he'd said it and Dyrfinna stared over at the ex-teyrn turned Grey Warden.

"I still love him. I told you that in Orzammar, you never stop loving someone, they claim a part of your soul that is new and different each time." She paused a moment at the flash of pain that had briefly crossed his face. "But I am not married to Erlend any more. Or Svien. I love them as part of my past. What is this about?"

"I..." Loghain pursed his lips into a grim line. "I don't know."

Dyrfinna crossed the distance between them and stared up through her fringe at the tall man, daring him to look at her. And look he did, his icy eyes fixed on her lips. She finished closing the small distance between them, leaning up on the balls of her feet to gently brush her lips with his, her fingers reached upwards to lace behind his neck.

His hands sought the small of her back the silk of the robe bunching beneath his fingers. He groaned into her mouth as they parted. "This is what worries you. You think..." She took a deep breath. "This is part of my culture, the way I know. I am not asking for you to understand or submit to my ways."

"I'm not asking you to either." Loghain rumbled, his eyes closing. Dyrfinna held the fellow Warden and warrior close, his warm through their thin sleeping clothes more warming than a fire. "But you could have said something."

"I could have said what?" She smiled into his shoulder. "That it is possible to love more than one person in your lifetime?"

"I really don't know. I feel foolish."

"You are a ninny of the highest order." She giggled. "But a ninny about me, which I find so strange."

"You're not the only one then." Loghain chuckled low in his throat. "I don't know why I'm so drawn to you, you bloody mad woman. But I am."

Languidly their lips met again, the touches gentle with that spark that ignited deep in her very bones. Damn this lowlander for making her as she was but he was slowly claiming a part of her heart, freely given. She smiled against his lips as they parted.

"Would you like some tea?"

Loghain nodded, a small smile on his lips that reached his eyes. Dyrfinna smiled back, she wasn't sure if this could be love between people from such different cultures but there was some affection here.

And Korth damn her but she was incredibly attracted to him.

* * *

The Wardens set off from Phoenix Hold by mid-day. "So where exactly are we headed now?" Alistair asked, still unsure where in the Maker's domain they were going.

"Denerim." Loghain answered him.

"Well that was helpful." Alistair snorted.

Dyr sighed and pulled a map out of Mr Rabbit's cargo unfurling it in front of him. "We are headed north to speak to the mages in their tower, gain their aide quickly against the Blight before heading through River Dane and the Bannorn to go to Denerim." She pointed to the places on the map as if by memory. "We will then make sure that Loghain's army head to the boarder and support the Avvar in securing Ferelden."

"I cannot believe the Orlesians would do such a thing. They have Grey Wardens too!" Leliana spat at the ground. "They would know unity is needed against the Archdemon!"

"Orlesians never cared if their actions were more detrimental." Loghain grumbled. "Anyway, I thought you counted yourself amongst them?"

"I am Ferelden! My mother was taken there as a servant at the end of the Occupation by the lord she served." Leliana turned on Loghain. "Then she died and I was left in their culture, I had to live there and learn how to survive. That is why I am a bard, that is the only way a Ferelden orphan could live in Orlais!"

Dyr glanced between the two fellow Wardens, the warring emotions on her face. "I consider Leliana a Ferelden lowlander." She said, almost quietly but a commanding tone.

"You scratch the surface and you find Orlais beneath." Loghain answered.

"You are so wrong." Leliana said with anti-climatic quietness.

"Tis the same argument time and time over. One would think you should grow weary of such foolishness." Morrigan sighed.

"I hate to agree with Morrigan but we're all Wardens. Technically, we don't even have nationalities any more." Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, I'm sure the Marcher Wardens consider themselves slightly different to say the Antivan Wardens or the Nevarran ones. But mostly we're just 'Grey Wardens'."

The icy look Loghain gave him almost sent a shiver down Alistair's spine. It clearly said 'I would never give up being Ferelden' and he caught it loud and clear. "So in Denerim we're going to be finding out what happened to your army Loghain?" He said nervously, trying desperately not to falter at that intense glare.

"We are." Alistair rolled his eyes at the tight-lipped ex-teyrn.

"And we are to meet his daughter who is the sitting Queen no?" Leliana smiled brightly. "I am sure Queen Anora will be appalled to hear of the Orlesian attack."

Dyr looked like she hadn't even drawn a single breath in a while, fixing her gaze on the map, bottom lip caught in her teeth. "Anora will wonder what in seven shades of shit is happening. So yes." Loghain snorted derisively, seemingly sucking on his own teeth.

"Your daughter is the Queen. Then we should speak to her and make sure she places her authority in commanding the army." Dyr's tone was even, emotionless. "The golden-clad man at Ostagar was her husband?"

"Cailan was..." Loghain trailed off.

Thorvald coughed, the attention drawn to him. "I believe I hear something unsettling." He near whispered. "Blades being drawn and burning."

"We trust our head scout. We should avoid this." Dyr rolled up the map. "Lead us on a safe path Thorvald."

* * *

Thorvald kept his bow in hand, an arrow between his two fingers that pulled on the bowstring. The weight of the draw back was like a tether to awareness as he kept on the scouting position. Suddenly, Greagoir the mule bucked, the shovel used for digging a latrine clattering against the jug they used to gather water.

He cursed that mule. "Oh thank the Maker! Someone with weapons!" A sobbing woman almost ran into him, her dress was torn up the side, her hands and face sooty and dirt covered her legs up to her knees. She stumbled down, grabbing his Warden tabard. "Please... you have to help me. Bandits attacked my wagon. I'm only a merchant. All my wares are burnt to cinders!"

"Point the way ma'am." Alistair answered for him. The lowlander woman smiled over at the ex-templar, tears glistening in her eyes. Thorvald slapped a hand on his face.

"I suppose we are protectors." Dyrfinna sighed. The lowlander got up, wiping her knees off.

"I can lead the way. Please hurry!"

"Carver and Bethany, stay with our supplies." Thorvald ordered the two Hawkes. He saw them as children, so desperate to prove themselves that he wanted to protect them. Carver snorted but obeyed and Bethany went to open her mouth then settled down.

"If you lot get hurt I'll make sure I can heal." She stated before very quickly running up to Alistair and giving him a kiss on the lips.

"Oh get a room - and let me in it!" Oghren cheered. Thorvald shot the dwarf a glower, causing the berserker to chuckle.

"My cart!" The lowlander woman screamed at them.

"Oh right. Er... lead away." Alistair blushed.

* * *

Thorvald kept his eyes peeled and saw the wagon in flames, oxen that had pulled it slain. But no sign of the bandits that had supposedly attacked.

One of the children of Shartan slipped out from behind the cover afforded by the wagon, a swagger in his step and a sword and dagger in his hands.

His skin was sun-kissed, his blonde hair swept back from his head with a braid running around next to his dagger-like ears that jutted from his skull. "Teyrn Loghain. The Orlesians say hello." The elf smirked.

Thorvald looked over to the ex-teyrn to see an all to familiar scowl etch his features, his sword readied and his shield already poised.

The lowlander that had lead them to the elf turned round, all signs of sadness replaced by a haunting grin, she raised her hands and lighting arched from her fingertips.

Thorvald pulled his bowstring back and the arrow loosed, the barbed head of it embedded in the soft neck of the woman. She put a hand up to the arrow, eyes widened and fell forward with a gurgle.

No more enemies of their group appeared and Dyrfinna suddenly had the elf knelt in front of her, one arm restraining his hands, his weaponry discarded far from his side and her dagger poised under his throat.

Had the scout missed a battle? He blinked, trying to figure what had happened, cursing Imhar for his distraction with the shaman.

"You did not attack." Dyrfinna growled.

"Who are you?" Alistair asked, venom in his gaze.

"Questions, questions. Tsk, tsk - allow me time to answer you." The elf rolled his eyes as if he wasn't close to having his throat slit.

"You are an assassin. I would say an Antivan Crow judging by the heraldry on your leathers and the fine make of your weaponry." Leliana crouched down and picked up his dagger, sniffing it. "And this is a well known Crow poison."

"Such intelligence and beauty." The elf smiled, snorting softly. "But you wish to interrogate me do you not my captors?"

"Well obviously." Alistair flippantly stated. Thorvald was still cursing not having seen the trap here as he bent down, disarming the claw trap with ease. Why was he being such a poor scout? He had trained since he was old enough to pull a bowstring back with any force in the techniques passed from his own mother. Skills he would have taught his sons should they not have been shaman.

"I have no idea what these Crows are-" Dyrfinna was cut off by the elf's snort of laughter.

"Of which rock did you live under!" He laughed. "I am not so terrible to be mocking of my captors but... the idea I am an unknown entity is entirely laudable si?"

"Who contracted you?" Loghain growled, taking control of the situation. Dyrfinna shot a smile of thanks to the ex-teyrn.

"Not even my name! Tsk tsk, what interrogators you are!" The elf laughed to himself. "It was an old contract I picked up if you must be aware of such things, placed even before I was born by Empor-"

"Damn it. All those blasted Crows were using that old contract?" Loghain cursed, cutting the elf off.

"I thought with the death of the employer a contract was null and void?" Leliana posed almost sweetly. "So... this would make one in hot water with ones guild within the Crows, your death would be demanded for even attempting such a contract if you even managed to murder Loghain and all of us Wardens."

The elf sighed. "That would be true my bard." Loghain growled and the elf looked at him. "Oh she is obviously a bard, I am surprised to see one in such hostile company si?"

"We know her background." Dyrfinna pulled the elf's hand further back, a grimace of pain briefly crossing the elven man's face. "But my question remains unanswered. You took on not only Loghain but numerous others well skilled with but one shaman and four archers at your aide all of which were quickly dealt with. And you did not even fight back, hence your current questioning child of Shartan. Why?"

"Why!" The elf laughed. "Why indeed does anyone offer themselves for what appears to be a suicidal mission?"

Dyrfinna faltered in holding the dagger. "You wish to die then. Would you like this granted?"

"I find myself... unwilling to die now that it is presented to me upon the proverbial platter." The elf shrugged in his hold. "Truthfully, life seems a less grim prospect si?"

"Antivan Crows are incredible assassins, why not have him become a Warden?" Leliana posed. "If our Joining does not kill him then less savoury aspects of our life would."

"How would we go about making this elf a Warden?" Dyrfinna asked the ex-bard. "It required a spell by the shaman."

"I think he taught Bethany." Alistair squinted. "But do we really want an assassin trailing after us?"

"There is honour amongst murderers. I pledge to the beautiful bard here that on my honour and upon the very hand of the Maker I would not kill any of you without due reason." The elf smiled. "I do not really wish to imbibe darkspawn fluids-"

"How do you know that?" Alistair snapped. The elf shrugged. "Can we trust that?"

"Antivans are fairly religious people, and there is a code of conduct. I think we can." Leliana answered him. "What says our commander?"

"What is your name?" Dyrfinna sheathed her dagger away, keeping her hold on the elf.

"Zevran. Zevran Arainai and Zev to my friends." Dyrfinna let go of his hands and he immediately pushed his hair off his face, revealing a black curving tattoo on his cheek.

"Oh joy, a lecherous elf joins us on this foolish crusade to end the darkspawn. I would take care to watch your foods for poison Wardens." Morrigan sniffled.

"An excellent suggestion regardless of companions no?" This Zevran smiled, his grin broad.

"I'll make sure we don't get a dagger to the kidneys then." Loghain glowered at the would-be-assassin.

* * *

Bethany was shocked when the new commander came back with an elf, claiming he would be becoming a Grey Warden and asking her to prepare a chalice for the Joining Ritual.

Apparently he'd attempted very poorly to commit suicide in an attempt to kill Loghain. And he was an Antivan Crow. Bethany remembered her father telling her about a Crow he'd fought alongside in his life as a mercenary.

"I... I don't know how." She admitted softly.

"Lucien didn't teach you?" Alistair uttered, slapping a palm on his face.

"No... he said he would when we next went to the Compound in Denerim." Bethany put her hands on her hips. What did he expect she could just magic one up? Oh that was a fairly harsh thought... It wasn't his fault.

"Then the ingredients and the spell would be under lock and key in our Compound in Denerim." Dyr stated. "We can put Zevran through our Joining Ritual then."

"We can hope." Alistair shrugged.

"I can't believe the oddballs we're just letting into the Wardens." Carver groaned. "Lucien was quite adamant about how 'hand-picked' we all were."

"I know the Wardens don't have an qualms over recruiting anyone really." Alistair shrugged. "Anyone with skill or mettle."

"Makes me feel so hand-picked." Carver drawled.

* * *

They set up camp, realising they were one tent short because of their recent addition. Dyrfinna sighed and put her bedroll out in the open.

"It looks to rain Dyr. Not the wisest decision ever." Alistair shrugged.

"Someone would have to share a tent then. Any volunteers?"

Zevran put his hand up. "Anyone can have my massage skills for the night, if they so wish them of course. I have been told they are incredible stress relievers." The answering glares made the elf put his hand down but he shrugged in good humour.

"Alistair can join me." Bethany smiled, looking over at the ex-templar who looked like someone had dyed his face red. "Er... if he wants to of course."

"Bethany!" Carver snapped.

"You and Oghren could share of course." Bethany smirked at her twin brother.

"Argh, do I have to?" The dwarf groaned.

"No. I am fine with sleeping outside." Dyrfinna stated. "Think of it as I am keeping watch on the assassin from taking a knife to your kidneys?"

Loghain snorted softly to that from his place at the cooking pot. "Then we ought to take it in turns no?" Leliana posed.

"Oh come! I am hardly dangerous to what will be my fellow Wardens si?" Zevran grinned.

"We are not taking chances." Thorvald crawled out of his tent.

That seemed to be the end of the conversation. Dyrfinna busied herself with making sure Mr Rabbit and Greagoir were well fed.

It was after their meal that Thorvald approached her, seemingly upset.

She patted the space next to herself on her bedroll where she'd been fixing a hole in her tunic with the little sewing kit bought in Lothering. "I have a problem." He stated, rather redundantly but she humoured him.

"What would that be?" Dyrfinna placed her sewing down.

"I... I seemed to lose time... during the skirmish with Zevran and the other assassins I remember my arrow sunk into the shaman's neck but nothing else until you had the child of Shartan restrained." Thorvald sighed.

"The fight was quick. Leliana shot down two of the archers very quickly and Morrigan set the other two on fire. Zevran hadn't even made use of his weaponry when Loghain knocked them from his grasp." She explained. "So... you did not even see the smoke from the charring assassins... or the dying screams?"

"Nothing." The archer closed his eyes. "I have no excuse for it, I have been a poor scout."

"Thorvald Ar Astrid O Odelia!" Dyrfinna levelled with him. "I have problem enough with Loghain believing he is old, I do not need you adding to the list of people thinking they are aged."

"I happen to have had a problem. I have no memory of that time." Thorvald answered her. Dyrfinna huffed, her shoulders slumping.

"Sorry... I think you could just be fatigued, we have been awake more often than not with our nightmares. If this problem persists speak to Bethany and she might know if you are ill." The archer smiled at her.

"Thank you... it was disconcerting." He nodded and got up to go into his tent.

* * *

Loghain watched the conversations in camp, Morrigan had slapped Zevran twice before the elf had stopped trying to flirt with the witch - at which point he'd moved onto the bard. Those two had spent a worrying amount of time talking to one another before the 'sort of' Orlesian had retired to her tent.

Carver and Thorvald had effectively kept the elf away from Bethany - who was talking closely with Alistair, small kisses stolen every so often.

Then there was Finna. She had been very quiet really, engaged only in conversation when the need arose or when spoken to. It was like she'd closed in on herself.

Loghain noted there were two more braids in her hair, each with a wooden bead dangling on the base. He'd seen the tearful way she'd left her son today... and she was snapping like a mabari with a wounded leg.

Blast it. He got up from washing out the cook pot and strode quickly to sit next to her, not bothering to announce his presence, the taint in his blood did that. "What do you want?"

Loghain remained quiet to the open venom in her voice, sighing softly.

"Well, everyone else seems to have a problem." She ground out. "What can I do for you, seeing as I am the commander and problem solver on this Korth forsaken mission to end the Blight?"

Finna glared through her fringe at him before she relented and went back to her sewing. "You could speak if you want to sit here."

"I could." He admitted. "Or you could tell me what's wrong with you."

Silence passed between them for a few moments before she put her sewing down almost forcefully. "I left again. I left them all." She paused a moment before continuing. "I spared the life of someone trying to kill one of my Wardens."

"Your ire toward him stopped when you realised he was just trying to kill himself." Loghain stated to the shock of the woman beside him.

"I know how he feels." She drew her knees up to her chin, looking over them to the campfire and sighing. "I felt as if I had been cast out from everything I had known, you know I was trying to claim back what honour I had as an Avvar - my death to mean something to my clan."

"I do..." He trailed off.

"Then there was a moment of living afterwards, where death seemed like something too easy." Finna admitted. "That I should continue living for some strange reason."

Loghain put his arm around her, rocking her onto his chest, she sat prone for a while before she put her head in the crook between his collarbone and neck, her eyes closed and breathing softly, her breath ghosting over his skin. "You're not the only person to feel something similar in their life."

"But it was so selfish of me. I was back... it was like a piece of me had been returned and I was going to die and leave my son and everyone there forever." She sighed heavily through her nose.

"Well then you're a ninny." Loghain smirked, knowing the scowl she shot him at the word was fairly good humoured.

"So are you. You have a daughter... who is a Queen?" She sounded puzzled.

"Yes, I suppose that's true. If of course Ferelden can stand having a commoner on the throne." The realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks and he shifted, causing Finna to sit back and stare for a few moments. "The army! Cauthrien... She's protecting Anora!"

"So... if I explain this my way." Finna pursed her lips, her brow furrowing as she tried to put her thoughts into words. "The clan does not wish your daughter as Thane even if she is rightful in having such a position having been spouse to the previous Thane... And Cauthrien is like Gunnhildr - she leads the warriors." She smiled, so brightly Loghain couldn't help but have the edge of his mouth curl upwards in response.

"That's the basic grasp of it I suppose." Loghain sighed.

"If the clan does not wish a person to be Thane they normally have another contender." Finna hmm'ed. "This is why your army had not secured the boarder!"

She sounded too pleased with her figuring out of that before she deflated. "Do we have time to go to the shaman tower or should we make haste to this Denerim?"

"There should be time. We still have a damned Blight to contend with, let's just hope the darkspawn eat the Orlesians while we're busy." Loghain smirked at the thought.


	20. Sigils & Blood Magic

Author note: Wow... chapter 20 and officially my most popular work of fanfiction! Remember 100th reviewer wins a fic but only if they've reviewed before - If unfortunately it is a new reviewer or a guest reviewer who nabs number 100 then the fic will go to 101st and so forth. Don't let that be discouragement from reviewing though!

The next milestone will be 200!

And it's you readers that have encouraged and chided me in making this story how it is - I had the plans all sorted and fought my muse to keep them how I wanted but by telling me what you've liked and what you don't like has changed things believe it or not!

And now - an AU about the mages tower! Come on - of course it'll be AU! This is me and Magda we're talking about and I did have a super brainwave so I'm actually pleased as punch about this! I could change my username here to Apollo & Magda! (Yes, no?)

Oh and in my mind - the mage origin that betrays Jowan wouldn't need to be made into a Grey Warden although they would be reprimanded.

* * *

It had rained almost constantly on the way to the tower of the shaman. Dyrfinna cursed Imhar for the luck of it, lowlander weather was horrid. She was used to snow, sunshine and howling winds, not pelting rain, fog and getting mud all the way up to her knees from walking in it.

But finally they had gotten to the place on the map that had been marked for her. She looked up at the tower and her mouth hung agape.

"Kinloch Hold!" She breathed. "You imprison shaman in an ancient Avvar Hold! How is this place even still standing?" She glanced back at Loghain and Alistair who were behind her at the time. The two Wardens looked shocked.

"You know the name of the mages tower but didn't know what coin was?" Alistair asked incredulously.

Dyrfinna stomped in the squelchy mud to slap her palm on one of the crumbled walls that would have been one of the struts beneath the bridge there has that survived. "This is old Ferelden script! This here tells of the building of this Hold with aide of the dwarven people!" She glanced briefly at it, it was standard practice to learn old Ferelden script alongside mordern Ferelden amongst her clan. They could read more of the old language than they could read. A piece of history though... she'd been dreading seeing shaman in bondage for their gifts - it was not the way it should have been. But that they placed them in bondage in an old Avvar Hold! It boiled her blood.

"Calm down Dyr." Alistair put his hands up as if in surrender.

"No! Your chant tree imprisons shaman in a Hold once taken by the Tevinters! This is blasphemy against everything we believe in. Shaman are to be free and yet they are..." She faltered at the bafflement of most of her Wardens and the earnest apology in Alistair's face - even though it wasn't his fault that this was the case presented to her.

"They are Chanty cattle, they willingly get taken here. I assure you no proper mage would willingly place themselves in such bondage." Morrigan snorted derisively.

"Why?" Dyrfinna reeled from the witches words - why would anyone place themselves in slavery? It was something the Avvar had fought the Tevinters to stop, the slavery of the children of Shartan and the slavery they imposed on any the Tevinters had sought. The concept was so strange...

"They don't just go to the tower because they want to." Bethany snapped to Morrigan. "The templars take most mages when they're children and can you expect a child to fight back against a lot of heavily armed men who can drain every single piece of mana from you?"

The look on the healer's face was almost murderous. "Tis the truth, mages wield so much more power than mere templars. Twould be sensible for them to rise up against their oppressors together, alas the dogma forced down your gullet from birth has clouded that good judgement into fearing and cursing your own power."

Bethany glowered. Morrigan crossed her arms, sucking her cheeks in and wiping a small piece of dirt from her shoulder, confident in her argument.

"Really?" Carver stared at both women. "You're both apostates and have been all your lives. You both were a bit privileged in the fact you both had a parent to nurture your magical talent. I can't believe I'm being so adult about this but you two are just being ridiculous!"

Bethany's mouth was agape at her brother, the respect in Morrigan's yellow eyes for managing to stand up to her was evident. "Perhaps this farm boy has been overlooked." She purred.

Carver managed to put palm to face. "Well if all this arguing is done don't we have mages to coerce into following us?"

"That weren't proper arguing. No blood drawn and they should'a been scrambling in that mud.. gettin' it all over them hehehe." Oghren chuckled.

The elf sniggered and the two of them slapped palms. "My fine short friend, for your horrid smell and foul sense of humour you do certainly know what is hot. Our beautiful mage and witch would indeed be better scrambling in the mud... with no clothes."

* * *

The only way they were going to get to the island Kinloch Hold was built on was to take a boat. Dyrfinna spied the man standing on a jetty, heavy armour and a bright red and purple leather skirt... it was such an odd combination.

As they neared the jetty she could clearly see a flaming sword emblazoned on his chestplate. "Er... that's a templar." Bethany stated.

Dyrfinna shrugged, these templars had no power over her Wardens from the way Lucien had conscripted Bethany. Alistair reassured her of this. "You hold more power than a mundane, there is no need to cow to these slavers." Morrigan sniffled.

Bethany thanked the witch for the way she'd pointed it out, even in her condescending way. Dyrfinna blinked at the man as she went to the boat, daring him to say something. Which of course - he did.

"Hey! Knight-Commander says no-one is to go into the tower!" He harrumphed.

"We are Grey Wardens and have a treaty for the aide of the shaman housed here. We are taking this boat to go to the tower." Dyrfinna stepped up to him, daring him to contradict her.

"Oh you're one of those are you?" He quipped. "Well I'm the Queen of Antiva!"

"Hola mi reina. ¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?" Zevran laughed at the templar.

"Er... right." He shifted on his feet, looking at the would-be-assassin with open contempt. "You're still not going in. I have orders."

Dyrfinna looked around herself, she had more people than this man could obviously take on even in the mindless darkspawn. "I could cut your throat and throw you into the waters - your armour looks heavy enough to make sure you are never seen of again." Testing she put her hand to the hilt of her dagger on her belt.

The man's eyes widened. "Or I could row you all across. Yeah... I could do that."

"Sensible choice." She nodded. "Could we take the boat forthwith?"

"Yeah... if you'd all just step on?" He glanced at the group. "Maybe not all of you. Small boat you see."

Dyrfinna looked at her Wardens. It was small and they were only going to talk. So people who would understand the best way to go about this quickly and maybe to intimidate the ones who would cause trouble - always anticipate someone being uncooperative like that Harrowmont from Orzammar. "Loghain, Alistair, Morrigan, Oghren, Asgrim and myself? The rest of you can take the coin we have and get some food from one of the places at this village here for when we return."

"Er... Morrigan?" Alistair squinted at her.

"Yes. She understands more about the ways of lowlanders than I and is under the protection of the Grey Wardens. No templar can touch her, plus I am sure she can intimidate anyone given half the chance." Dyrfinna answered him.

"I could do that." Morrigan smiled, the expression almost directed to the templar still anxious to take them across the lake.

"Me... and water ain't gonna be a fine mix boss." Oghren looked at the water, shuddering slightly in his heavy Warden armour.

"The Mighty Oghren felled by a little water." Alistair laughed at the dwarf.

"I do it and you owe me a pint pike-twirler." Oghren snapped back.

"Let's just get moving..." Loghain sighed, trailing off.

Dyrfinna watched as Leliana, Thorvald, Bethany, Carver and Zevran lead their bronto and mule over to the collection of squat houses huddled near the bank of the lake.

The four warriors, shaman and hound quickly loaded onto the boat with a bit of rocking, Oghren paled beneath his massive beard, holding a hand up to his face and glaring at Alistair. Morrigan chuckled, stepping lightly on until Asgrim decided then would be the best time to stick his nose to her behind and give her a good whiff.

Morrigan almost growled at the intrusion, pushing the dog over to Dyfinna. The templar sighed at the mismatched group he was presented with but untied the boat from the jetty, rowing with gusto across the choppy waters.

Oghren was the first to scramble off, chucking up his breakfast and the assorted alcohols he'd consumed already today. He groaned. "Make that two pints."

Alistair laughed and Dyrfinna rolled her eyes. "Puke covered warrior is a fearsome sight. Right now I quiver in my boots." Morrigan smirked.

The dwarf narrowed his eyes at her. "Right so.. you guys can all go in and talk to Knight-Commander Greagoir and I'll just row back so I don't get demoted to cleaning out the privy's." The templar clambered back into the boat, pushing off the muddy embankment with the oars, sweat pouring from his forehead as he rowed.

"What an odd man." Dyrfinna shrugged. "Let us speak to the shaman then."

* * *

Dyrfinna felt so wrong being in the ancient Hold. Her very ancestors would have walked these corridors, now the shaman were in bondage within them. Nothing felt as wrong as this other than the calling in her blood when darkspawn neared.

Scrubbed limestone with old Ferelden was passed... she caught glimpses of the tale of Luthias Dwarfson. It made her smile, thinking of the way Thorarin would pester her for the ballad when he was so much smaller and unable to sleep without a tale told to him.

"You look happier." Alistair mentioned.

"The tale of Luthias Dwarfson is on that wall." She said back, pointing to the limestone with faint writing upon it. They entered into the main foyer of the tower to see a mass of groaning men, some bleeding on the floor, others rushing with potent smelling elfroot concoctions and bandages. One stood out, giving orders.

He was tall, not as tall as either Carver, Loghain or Thorvald but tall, grey hair and neatly trimmed beard - and angry. His armour was much more ornate than any other she'd seen on the templars present.

"Oh Maker's sake! I told Carroll not to let anyone in!" The grey haired man groaned, turning to the group of Wardens and mabari approaching. "Who are you?"

"I would prefer your name first lowlander." Dyrfinna bristled, still ill at ease in Kinloch Hold. Did the survival of the Hold mean that the Kinloch clan survived nomadic as well? It had been a long time since the Avvar had not lived in the Frostback mountains exclusively.

The templar blanched at the disrespect, his eyes narrowed. Loghain stepped forward. "Greagoir." He stated.

"Teyrn Loghain." The templar blinked back, his expression still sour.

"Warden-Constable Loghain now." Loghain said without blinking.

"His name is..." Dyrfinna couldn't help the smile she had to force back by pursing her lips and the silent laughter that shook her Warden armour into rattling. "But the mule... Lucien was so funny!"

"You knew the apostate that constantly escaped?" 'Greagoir' clenched his jaw at her. Obviously Lucien was quite notorious. Dyrfinna straightened up.

"He was our commander after Ostagar and I took the reins after his death. We are Grey Wardens and Lucien was a valuable shaman." She stood defiant, both of them in a showdown of heated glares.

"I am tired of the Grey Wardens incessant need for mage recruits... new Commander." Greagoir sighed, relenting his gaze. "And if that weren't enough to make me greyer I have a situation to deal with so be on your way."

"You are sorely mistaken if you think I will leave." Dyrfinna crossed her arms. "I need the shaman against the Blight in accord to a treaty I hold with them."

"Er... what situation is there Knight-Commander?" Alistair asked, Dyrfinna looked behind to to glare at the ex-templar. He'd been party to making her the leader.

"Blood mages... I know you don't I... you used to be a templar?" Greagoir lifted a pair of dwarven made spectacles off his chest from the chain he wore to hold them, propping them on his face. "Ser Alistair?"

"Warden Alistair now Ser." Alistair pulled his mouth to the side in a pinch... "So the blood mages?"

"Blood mages and demons stalk the tower." Greagoir straightened up, walking with careful steps and beckoning them to follow him through the throngs of injured men. "It is no longer under templar control and so I have ordered a courier to Denerim for the Grand Cleric's seal for the Right of Annulment."

"The shaman have turned to the magic of the Tevinters." Dyrfinna uttered. "What is this Right of Annulment?"

"It gives the templars the word that every living creature beyond their point of safety to be... killed." Alistair explained. "It was always plan B when it comes to it though. Things must be dire."

"So... the shaman are a lost cause. We have no aide here." Dyrfinna sighed. "Damn it!"

"Hey, we could always go chopping through these demons and blood mages right?" Oghren said aloud. "I mean... not all a the sparklefingers'd turn to blood magic."

"It is with a heavy heart I order this." Greagoir snapped to the dwarf. "These mages have killed and maimed most of my templars here."

"If the shaman live in an Avvar Hold I would hope the qualities that were infused into the very foundations are still working." Dyrfinna mused aloud, the knowledge running in her head regarding the defences that were laid out in the Avvar Holds during the wars with the Tevinters.

Greagoir turned to her. "How do you know about the sigil stones?"

"I am Avvar and we created the Holds." She shrugged. "All permanent Holds have sigil stones, it normally keeps the demons of the dreamworld cowed unless a shaman actively seeks one out."

"So they're broken?" Alistair asked.

"Most likely. I could fix one and it should fix the others." Dyrfinna shrugged. "That will make all of the Tevinter magic within the tower half as powerful if not impossible... but it would take something horrid to break a sigil stone. A spell directed in extreme force."

"That would be the work of Apprentice Surana." Greagoir sighed. "There was an... incident. A blood mage escaped with the help of a recently harrowed mage, under order of the First Enchanter because he wanted to entrap the blood mage and his lover. If I... give you the key to the respository that should clear this up then... right?" He sounded hesitant - as if he doubted the power of the sigil stones.

"It will likely remove the threat of Tevinter blood magic but not hostile shaman." Dyrfinna admitted. "And doing this will be dangerous to us... if this Hold is filled with dangers as we can see here..." She looked around at the injured templars, she didn't wish such injuries upon her Wardens... but this could be a way of saving what shaman they could.

"I understand." Greagoir took a deep breath. "If you can really fix the sigils, I'd have to ask that the threat in the tower was completely eliminated. We templars would be indebted to you."

"How indebted?" Loghain narrowed his eyes.

"We would stand by you against the Blight." Greagoir answered the ex-teyrn, a glower in place.

"And should we find non-hostile shaman?" Dyrfinna questioned.

"I will only have the word of First Enchanter Irving that the mages are safe." He answered. "Else all is lost for the mages."

"What say the rest of our Wardens? Do you think this is possible for us?" Dyrfinna turned from the Knight-Commander.

"Well, if these magic stones are powerful. Sure, ain't gonna be a walk in the park." Oghren shrugged.

"If we could have a floor plan of the tower with these keys?" Loghain asked the Knight-Commander who nodded.

"I'm all for saving the mages... I mean if they aren't blood mages of course." Alistair answered her.

"Their templar overlords have decided upon death, why question it in doling it to these Chantry slaves?" Morrigan sniffled. The response shocked Dyrfinna although she didn't let it show. She'd have thought Morrigan would have stood alongside her fellow shaman.

Asgrim tilted his head, tongue lolling out before he seemingly barked in agreement to being able to save the shaman.

"Then I request the keys and the floor plan of the tower. I will restore the sigil stone and we will... kill the hostile shaman that remain." Dyrfinna turned back to the Knight-Commander who quickly walked to get the items requested. Dyrfinna slumped as he departed. "I am as mad as a Drakonis hare."

"You certainly are." Loghain said dryly. It had been spoken about and due to the almost gossip-like nature about the relationship between Bethany and Alistair shared and the fact that Dyrfinna was the commander and Loghain her constable - they would keep what relationship between them a secret for now. The last thing either of them needed was whispers, although the one between Oghren and Alistair regarding his virginity had been hilarious.

Knight-Commander Greagoir returned with a solemn face. He handed the floor plan to Loghain and the keys to Dyrfinna.

They were all lead through the corridors, lit by flickering wall sconces to a heavy set of doors inlaid with runes. "The anti-magic runes kept everything past this door safe." Greagoir paused a moment. "Remember, the First Enchanter if he survives or if not... I will accept the word of a templar that the threat is over."

"Will Warden Alistair do for that task?" Dyrfinna asked offhandedly.

"If he is the only choice you have... yes." Greagoir cracked the door open and the Wardens moved quickly through the door. "Maker guide you Wardens." The door closed behind them with a resounding reverberation in the stone floors and walls.

"I feel as if everything the Avvar did has been twisted into some horrid dogma to enslave." Dyrfinna whispered, feeling since her meeting with a proper templar that it was... so wrong. "How can our shared history be seen in two such different lights?"

"Ignorance and fear." Loghain answered her. "The mages are our greatest weapon and we lock them up and tell them they're worth nothing. Not the brightest plan there ever was."

"But what about the fear of abuse of power?" Morrigan sneered.

"Regular men are as easily corrupted as any mage." Loghain said back, almost softly. Dyrfinna made a note to speak to Loghain about that, the way he said that was haunting.

"Can I have a look at this floor plan... I should be able to locate our nearest logical place for a sigil stone and we can activate it. That should activate the others." Loghain passed the floor plans to her and she glanced at the structure. "The place marked as repository - that is where we need head for the nearest. Failing that the dungeons would be the next place. The only others would be in the floor marked 'Harrowing Chamber' and that is on the top of the tower."

* * *

They kept their weaponry drawn in case of any hostilities but none seemed to present themselves. It was disquieting for a place supposedly crawling with maiming and possibly deadly dangers.

"Just a question Dyr. How are we fixing these sigils?" Alistair asked. Dyrfinna rolled her eyes.

"The spell is similar to the warding spell we use for camp. Morrigan should be able to fix the sigils if we reverse whichever spell was used to break it. Unfortunately they are vulnerable to certain spells - it would be a lucky guess on which though." She hissed back. They were supposed to be being quiet. Suddenly, a whooshing noise interrupted the new silence, they ran toward it, weaponry poised.

The sight greeted to them was an elven shaman holding a great webbed barrier of light over children, her staff pointed behind her and lightning crackling in her open palm. "Keep those bastards back Wynne!" She shouted.

There was a bit of recognition as Dyrfinna saw the elderly shaman hurling great fists of ice at creatures that looked like lava, spindly arm like limbs and slanted glowing eyes. "I'm trying my best Silmarwen!" The elder shaman shouted back.

The ice hit home on the fiery creatures and they froze. The elder shaman hit them with a whack of the orbed end of her staff, shattering them across the floor to have them dissipate as grey smoke. "We have trouble!" The elven shaman shouted, looking in the direction of the Wardens.

"Hold the lightning." The elder shaman snapped at the elven one. "Put the barrier over the door ahead."

The elven shaman did as was told, glaring at them as she did so. "I know you." Dyrfinna put her sword on her shoulder, not wishing to place it in scabbard when there could be more danger but letting her shield arm drop. "You were at Ostagar."

"And you must be the Grey Warden I healed." The woman hmm'ed. "What're you doing here of all places?"

"I hold a treaty to have the aide of the shaman against the Blight." Dyrfinna shrugged. "If you could stand aside - we need to get into the repository behind you to reactivate the sigil stones that should remove the threat of blood magic."

"But... the templars. They locked us in!" A red haired woman spoke up.

"They allowed us through to save any non-hostile mages and to remove the threat to Kinloch Hold." Alistair reassured the shaman.

"Petra will you can it?" The elven shaman barked. "Come on - let them get this sorted and we'll go back to our daily subjugation like normal Chantry mages."

"A splendid idea." The elder shaman smiled. "If you wish to save the tower then I'll come with you, and Silmarwen will too no doubt."

"Of course great tutor!" The elven shaman who was obviously this Silmarwen stated flippantly.

"We wish for an elderly schoolmarm to join us now? Pfft, what good will this meddlesome woman do?" Morrigan sniffled derisively.

"Every shaman is needed if they wish to help us." Dyrfinna sighed, not wishing for an argument to spring up now. "Your name was... a lot has happened since Ostagar you see."

"Wynne." The shaman nodded. "And excuse Silmarwen, she's a bit - upset as of late."

"Upset!" Silmarwen strode up, brushing her long brown hair off her face and unnatural green eyes boring at Wynne. "My best friend turned out to be a backstabbing blood mage! I'm almost glad my brother betrayed him to Irving, it means he's safe in the dungeons during this fiasco! Of course I'm bloody well upset though! And now the templars will likely just kill us all even if these Wardens _do _sort anything out!"

"Would you like to get out of Kinloch Hold Silmarwen?" Dyrfinna posed. "We could use more shaman... mages against the Blight in the Grey Wardens."

"More than anything." She huffed. "I trained for years to get recruited by the Grey Wardens."

"Great - now that's all sorted. Let's get that sigil stone fixed. I don't think any of us want to have to fight blood mages." Alistair sighed.

"Lead the way. Oh - Silmarwen Surana, what's your name?" The elf pulled a leather tie from her wrist and bound her hair up into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, revealing incredibly long pointed ears pierced with earrings from lobe to pointed tip.

"Commander Dyrfinna and the Wardens behind me are Alistair, Loghain, Morrigan, Oghren and the hound is Asgrim." She gestured to each of the Wardens in turn. Asgrim padded up to the elf and she patted him on the head hesitantly.

"Nice doggie?" Her eyebrows arched in question.

"If you can stand the smell." Morrigan sighed.

"You're a piece of alright." Oghren grinned, waggling his eyebrows at Silmarwen.

"Touch me dwarf and you'll get the biggest zap you could even imagine." She growled at the dwarf. To whit Oghren burst into barking laughter.

"Petra, Eadric, Kinnon, Kelli - protect these children apprentices and keep that barrier up just in case." Wynne ordered the older shaman with the children.

* * *

The repository was dark, Silmarwen lit up a ball of light ahead them with Morrigan lighting behind them and Wynne lighting above them. "There's supposed to be sentinel guardians down here. Elrohir... I got to speak to him once down in his cell and he said he melted most of them into puddles of metal. We couldn't spring him and recruit him too?"

"Do you share both mother and father?" Dyrfinna asked. They passed through a room lined with vials of blood, each of them seemingly labelled and ghastly. Why vials of blood?

"Phylacteries. The templars use them to hunt rogue apostates." Alistair explained.

"Barbaric... but I asked a question." Dyrfinna shuddered, moving quickly through a hole in the wall.

"Er... we're twins. So yeah." Silmarwen shrugged. "Does that mean anything?"

"Part of becoming Grey Wardens." Dyrfinna sighed. "Do not trouble yourself at the moment. The sigil stone should be through that door... Korth's throne! A Kiveal statue!"

"A what-y what?" Alistair blinked, striding into the dusty storeroom of sorts. Dyrfinna sighed and pointed out the statue of a mabari.

"Kiveal. When my people had fought the Tevinters a warrior Thane named Kiveal saw the slavery they placed in their hounds. He taught his people to capture the animals without harming them and so grateful of being freed the mabari bonded to the Avvar - we brought them back as loyal friends to Ferelden."

"It's actually a font of power as far as I'm aware. You put a spell in and it sort of multiplies it." Silmarwen shrugged.

"The sigil is within the statue!" Dyrfinna turned to Morrigan. "The wall we walked through was burnt - you can see the scorch marks... someone put a fire spell through the Kiveal statue - breaking the sigil within. If you do the opposite - an ice spell and then the warding spell through the statue it should fix the sigil."

"Well fire is Elrohir's best class of magic. Makes sense." Silmarwen shrugged.

"Very well Warden. If everyone could clear ahead - this may freeze someone." Morrigan clapped her hands to chivvy them behind her as she cast the ice into the statue first - a blizzard of icicles shot from the mouth of the hound.

Then the warding spell to protect and fix the sigil stone. It hummed with power and the three shaman shivered. "That was like the Fade fixing itself." Silmarwen smiled. "My jove this works!"

"You said there should be another sigil in the dungeons right? If we go there next to make sure the others are fixing themselves?" Alistair coughed from the dust in the air stirred up by the blizzard.

"And we can get Elrohir out! Let's do this shit!"

"Silmarwen language!" Wynne scolded.

"Normally common but I speak Tevine and Nevarran too." The elf smirked.

"Come on then... let us hope not to encounter dangers on the way." Dyrfinna sighed. This child of Shartan was bubbling with energy - just the sort of Warden they needed with Alistair still going on about 'Scowling Wardens'. It would be Hakkon's will if this elf was tempered enough to survive the Joining.


	21. Abomination

Author note: Yes! Surana twins and we reached 100 reviews dear readers! The fic goes to **Reaver. H** - well done.

Anyway, let's get on with the tower shall we? Magda hates the Fade but she's thought of utterly cruel nightmares - proper nightmares that will shake each of the people there down to their core. I shiver myself in revulsion. (next chapter though dearies)

* * *

Dyrfinna paled at the sight afforded her in the library, a demon from the dreamworld had taken hold of this shaman, twisted his body inside out. It rose unnaturally tall, muscles mottled blood red and brown, face no more distinct than eyes and what looked to be lips melded together, his robes were ripped to his waist, held tight by the straining muscles. Oddly enough his arms weren't muscular at all - simply skin and bone. It may not have been a he - it had no distinctness to ether gender or being elf or human.

She held her shield up and slashed at it's midsection for guttural laughter to burst from the holes of the melded mouth, the blood coating wasted fingers as it touched the wound and held it's hand up.

Lightning seized through her body, she could feel every jolt and tearing tiny blood vessel, her limbs oddly warmed by it. She felt almost emptied, like her stomach was sticking to her spine - even being a Warden wasn't this hungering. She felt the urge to consume overriding every logical instinct of fighting back against this pain.

Alistair shouted something through the foggy haze that filled her head and the creature faltered for Oghren to swipe it's head off. She slumped to the floor and quickly had to bring her shield up as flames licked over - the creature burnt apart.

She looked around at the burnt spaces on the stone floor, pages from books scattering in floating ashen wisps. "What in Korth's name was that?" She choked, spitting a glob of blood out of her mouth.

Silmarwen shook her head. "Hunger abomination. They feed off of the baser emotion of hunger, you felt it trying to weaken you didn't you?"

The elf clicked out her neck. "Hold still dear." Wynne came rushing over, her hands lit in blue as she clicked in her running. "You burst a blood vessel somewhere - you're likely to be quite bruised." The cooling wave of healing magical energies washed through Dyrfinna's very pores. That was one shaman that had given into Tevinter magic.

The effect had been devastating, Silmarwen had dropped groaning to her knees almost instantly, her hand pushed infront of her in a clawing motion as she tried to gather stone into a ball in the air... the results of which crumbled.

One shaman. Loghain was more that right about them being the best weapon of Ferelden but why would they do this? Even as strongly as she felt about seeing the shaman out of bondage as everyone should be - none of these that had been weak enough to turn to this accursed magic should be free. But it was also true that any person could be corrupted - just because someone had the powers of magic didn't mean they were to be imprisoned for it.

"Pathetic fool." Morrigan snorted. "Why one would wish to become abomination is entirely beyond me."

"Not unlike your training with Flemeth then?" Alistair quipped at the witch.

"Tis unlike it to the extremes, mother had nowhere near this man abominations running free in her care." She rolled her eyes dramatically, and they'd only encountered one... one.

"Stop the bickering." Loghain chided.

"I feel another demon..." Silmarwen sighed.

* * *

The libraries were extensive, dusty and more importantly the bookshelves looked like they could topple. They managed to clear the main library of the abominations of Hunger and Rage - both of which had tried to exert some mind control on them.

Kinloch Hold twisted into the main atrium and the sight was horrific, she knew the name of the demonic creature that looked like molten twisted lava that radiated hatred like a poison.

A Light Theurge. She hadn't properly seen the creatures Wynne had fought near the repository. Skormr made sure that should the barrier into the dreamworld ever be broken asunder by a magical incident that the Avvar could identify the best means of defeating such creatures without magical aide.

Dyrfinna rushed the light theurge, pushing her shield into it's slanted face with fiery eyes. It was only illusion that it was hot, that it was molten lava. Flames crashed upon her cheek and she pushed her sword through roughly where the belly of the creature should be.

Silmarwen was busied alongside Alistair, Asgrim and Loghain in defeating yet another abomination so Dyrfinna was alone in this, backed up by the shaman Wynne with her almost violent ice springing up from the stone floor, hardening the light theurge into place. She grinned wildly and threw her shield across the 'head' section of the creature, shattering it into grey wisps as it returned to the dreamworld. Where were Morrigan and Oghren actually?

She turned to face the abomination when she saw Asgrim jump off a reading desk and maul the face from the abomination, his oily black fur dripping with blood as he removed himself from the dead creature. Silmarwen cast a blue webbing over the abomination, bright red flames licking at the array of barrier.

Oghren suddenly crashed through the bookshelves and the Warden group moved as the great thing crashed down to reveal another abomination, this one radiating something more akin to despair.

The crushing defeat of leaving her clan and more painfully, her son filled her. The thought that they might have seen her die should she have adamantly refused to become a Grey Warden - become as a broodmother and attacked them under influence of the Archdemon.

A tear slipped down the hot blistered feeling on her cheek and Dyrfinna grit her teeth. Morrigan raised her hands, orange light glowing from fingertips to elbows as she reached forward to the gristly creature, smoke rising through his eyes as it screamed.

Oghren swiped his axe upward with a sickening crack of ribs and the two of them backed off, the flames like a ball of energies just away from them.

Dyrfinna swallowed. How had she been so weak to the attacks of that... disgusting abomination to mankind? The deep-seated pain had risen so strongly she almost felt sick, the lump in her throat painful.

She looked briefly behind herself to see Wynne and Silmarwen wiping tears with the sleeves of their ornate robes, Loghain with a grim line of a frown on his face and Alistair looking very red and blotchy about the face.

Even Asgrim - the eternally happy hound - looked defeated and sad. "Fuck me... that were a horrid one." Oghren cursed, spitting toward the blackened mark that was all that was left of the abomination.

"Yes... twas rather grim." Morrigan agreed, her voice small and without that confident, haughty bite it carried.

"Oh sweet Maker! Your face! You look like a rage demon bit you!" Silmarwen cried. Dyrfinna glanced toward the elven shaman. It was only a brush of warmth - nothing more.

"Hold still. I can't quite believe you'd get so close to a rage demon." Wynne scolded lightly, her hands lit in blue. It felt like a regular occurrence that this Wynne would heal them... or her during this saving of Kinloch Hold. It was her duty as an Ash Warrior to be at the front of battle, to take the blows others could not.

"I feel minimal pain in battle due to being an Ash Warrior, the light theurge was barely any trouble." She huffed, a wrinkle forming between her brows at the mother henning of the elder shaman.

Wynne sighed Morrigan made a shocked noise . She turned her attention to the witch, hmm'ing at her in question. "I have never heard another use the word... theurge, about a demon in real form in this world. Indeed, twas only my mother that ever used such words."

"It's an old word right? I think I heard it when I was in my templar training." Alistair shrugged.

"He is a Grey Warden now. He does not place... mages in bondage." Dyrfinna sighed at the pale expression on the elven shaman's face.

"Right. Well... that dwarf knocked a path straight to the dungeons and storerooms. Let's get my brother freed and see if that sigil stone is fixed." Silmarwen shrugged, her fingers clenching into a fist.

"Dwarf has a name." Said dwarf growled.

"The Mighty Oghren speaks." Alistair quipped.

"Yep, and don't you forget it pike-twirler." Oghren grunted.

* * *

The dungeons were filthy, the smell of stale excrement and urine assaulting their nostrils. Dyrfinna wish she could sheathe weapons so she could hold her nose. But then she'd have needed to breathe through her mouth.

And that would have been worse. Morrigan and Silmarwen kept up front, sensing for demons (or theurges) and lighting the way forward with balls of fire in their palms. Their lights flickered out and the elven shaman cursed violently.

"Fucking anti-magic runes." She growled at the end.

"Silmarwen!" A low, almost lyrical voice called out.

"Elrohir!" Silmarwen brightened, rushing into the all pervading darkness. It wasn't as dark as the deep roads but it was... very dark. Like the colour had been sucked from everything leaving dark shadows under dirtied straw in the cells as they passed, following the elven shaman. "We're getting you out brother, don't you worry." Her hands were threaded through the thick iron bars, holding onto a shorter elf from the looks of it.

In the colourless world his hair looked white, his ears standing stark and abnormally long against them, his robes almost black as he hugged to his sister through the bars. "Please... I can't stand it down here. I only did as I was asked."

"It's alright. Shh..." Silmarwen brushed her fingers in his hair, the white of it ruffling before he growled at her. Dyrfinna smiled in the darkness, just how Thorarin hated his hair ruffled.

"Can anyone pick a lock?" The female elf asked, pulling herself out of the embrace.

"Not that I know..." Dyrfinna trailed off, looking at her Wardens. There was a distinctive sigh that could only have been Loghain and he crouched to the cell bars, the tip of his dagger shoved into the lock. What they could have done for Brosca to be here - he could pick locks.

"Stand back." Loghain rumbled. The flash of white hair scuttled back with a rustling of linen before a spark lit and Loghain had slammed his fisted gauntlet at the dagger, breaking the lock. The cell door was opened with a rusty creak and Elrohir leapt out to bound into his twin sister, babbling about something in a strange language.

"What language is that?" Alistair asked.

"Elvish." Elrohir sniffed.

"We _are_ Dalish..." Silmarwen trailed off. "He has the accent because he didn't manifest powers until much, much later than me. Which isn't fair because he's so much more awesome with his magic."

"Dalish... we have a treaty with the Dalish right?" Alistair asked to no-one in particular, it wasn't answered on the grounds of being obvious.

"You jest sister." Elrohir jostled into Silmarwen. "I can't do lightning."

"I can't crush someone with my mind." Silmarwen audibly smirked back.

"We have a sigil stone to find. If it works it will hum with power the shaman can feel. If it does not it should feel like..." She didn't know what it'd feel like.

"The Kiveal statue felt broken, almost wrong. Your work Elrohir, you're the one who broke it."

"Oh everything's my fault these days." Dyrfinna rolled her eyes for what it was worth, despite the fact nobody could see in this colourless world.

"The storerooms should have torches." Wynne butted in. "Then our search could continue proper."

* * *

Using memory of the floor plans and back-tracking they found themselves back at the T that had lead them either to the dungeons or storerooms. Elrohir melted the lock into the storerooms, pushing the door open with his boot.

In the light conjured by the elven shaman in his lock-melting Dyrfinna could clearly see his hair was as white as snow, Silmarwen had given him a spare hair tie and he pulled it back harshly from his face into a short tail at the crown of his head, making his elven features more stark and pointed, his green eyes almost glowing and large on his face.

His robes were in fact a dull black, old with bobbles on the cloth. "I always thought the Dalish tattooed their faces." Alistair stated toward the elves.

"Silmarwen was taken when she was very young... and I not long before I should have received my vallaslin." Elrohir explained. "It was horrible and wonderful finding my sister again."

Dyrfinna grit her teeth, they just took these shaman when they were young. What had she been thinking taking lowlanders to her Hold? Lowenna and Skormr would have been taken if not for the fact her Wardens wouldn't do such a thing. "We're going to be Grey Wardens brother, we'll be free!"

"Well thanks, I always wanted the price of freedom to be fighting tainted monsters." The white-haired elven shaman shrugged. "Ah, that was unfair, I do wish freedom but I wish it could have been without a cost."

"Darkspawn are mindless but you will become protectors of Thedas." Dyrfinna said, closing her eyes briefly.

"Oh! I feel the sigil! This way!" Silmarwen flustered in her green robes. "I think it's broken though..."

Suddenly, there was a crackling of joints and pincers that only meant one thing, the creatures themselves descending ominously from the stone ceiling.. The Wardens were effective in cleaving the giant spiders quickly, having fought hordes of them in Ortan Thaig.

Oghren and Dyrfinna kept to the front as they always did, their similar training quite efficient in ignoring the attacks of the spiders as flames, lightning and more... deadly spells thundered around them.

Covered in ichor from the spiders and sticky with webbing the Wardens managed to find the next sigil. "The Lady of the Skies, the sigil would be above the carving!" Dyrfinna pointed upwards at a great eagle carved into the very ceiling, webs sprawled about it.

"It feels like... blood magic. Someone used blood magic to break this one." Silmarwen groaned. "This was done purposely, Wynne if you could send a healing spell at it and the witch can go that weird arse magic thing."

"You're good at figuring these out." Alistair remarked off-handedly.

"I studied relentlessly to get into the Wardens, of course I'm good. Not so skilled but knowledgeable." The elven shaman shrugged. "Elrohir is the one to which magic comes easily - even if he's a smug barstool about it."

"Only to make you work harder sister." The white haired elf smirked as Wynne shot a blue light at the sigil. Morrigan sighed and did the warding spell without prompting.

"Now doesn't that feel lovely?" Silmarwen grinned. Dyrfinna found herself liking the easy smile that came to the child of Shartan despite the fact she was in bondage for being a shaman. "Any more of these thingies?"

"The Harrowing Chamber?" Dyrfinna grimaced, which was at the top of Kinloch Hold. This Hold should be able to have many people in it, most of which she could hope were non-hostile but demons and theurges as well as abomination may have thinned the ranks of friendly shaman ahead.

"Oh great, my favourite place in the world." Elrohir groaned. "Whelp, we'll not get there wandering down here. We should probably help ourselves to the lyrium while we're at it."

"Oh, good idea." His sister smiled.

* * *

The endless stairs... Alistair couldn't quite imagine if he'd not been recruited into the Grey Wardens being put in Kinloch Hold, because he'd have been using these horrendous steps everyday. The two elven mages they'd just picked up seemed quite at home running up them, grinning at each other. It wasn't general practice to have brothers and sisters in the same tower, the templars generally viewed such things as dangerous.

He remembered in the back of his mind that he might have a sister. There had been whispers at Redcliffe that his mother had had a daughter before she died giving birth to him. He wondered absently if he'd known or even met this woman should she still be alive that he'd have such an easy rapport with her, like Bethany and Carver or Silmarwen and Elrohir.

How did everyone else have so much energy? The mages seemed full of it after drinking some lyrium and strapping the vials knotted with string over their chests. Even Wynne was quite spryly for her age, her joints popping as they continued up the stairs. Then again, none of them were encumbered by heavy plate and chain Warden armour.

Dyr rallied them up onto the floor, glancing at them with flushed cheeks. "This floor is supposedly-"

"The apprentice classrooms and where Irving's office is." Wynne supplied. Dyr briefly narrowed her eyes at the grandmotherly mage before taking in a deep breath.

"So hopefully we shall find this First Enchanter Irving." She nodded.

"Or Second Enchanter Amell." Elrohir replied. "He's not usually far off from Henry at any time."

"Since when are you on first name terms with the First Enchanter?" Silmarwen grinned at her brother. "And anyway, you know Second Enchanter prefers his first name."

"Well..." He stuck his tongue out at his sister, the pale pink stained slightly blue by the lyrium.

"Children!" Wynne scolded.

"Come on, the great tutor speaks." Silmarwen chivvied, pushing open the door at the top of the stairs. "Owain! How are you cleaning at a time like this!"

Alistair followed her unnatural green eyes to see a man bent into a large cauldron, a scrubbing brush in hand a lather coated all the way up his arms nearly to his robes pushed up said arms. He heard them, carefully removing himself from the cauldron, scrubbing brush still in hand and stood up almost bonelessly. "The cleaning is familiar." The monotone chilled something in the ex-templar. Owain was one of the Tranquil mages...

The man stood straight-backed, the branding scar on his forehead branching out in the sun pattern of the chantry, his hair shaved severe to his head. "Owain, could you head downstairs, there are children who lost their journals in their dormitories and I'm sure they'll appreciate help looking for them." Wynne said softly, guiding the Tranquil mage to the steps.

When he was gone Oghren broke the silence. "Just what in the Void was that?"

"A Tranquil mage." Elrohir growled. "Cut off from his magic and his emotions by the templars. Apparently he volunteered for it but I can't believe it."

"The templars can do that? Barbarians!" Dyr growled, her jaw set hard. "Any more things I should know about their abuses?"

"Woah, someone gets my point of view!" Silmarwen sighed. "There's one more thing... if a mage gets pregnant... they take the child away before they've even had first suck."

Alistair glanced over to see all the colour drain off the new commander's face, her nostrils flaring but speech eluded her from the harrowed expression on her face. "Wankers." He looked over to see Loghain seething, the curse having come from his direction. "Is it any wonder this blew up here?"

"Not at all." Elrohir shrugged, defeated really. "Come on, we have a tower to save, or cow back into obedience by taking out all the mages that wanted to stand up for themselves."

"Tis the way of the world, your masters see the extremes you take for freedom rather than simply being slaughtered." Morrigan shrugged. "This protest is pointless, it will be culled in infancy due to it's foolishness."

"Can I punch her... oh please let me punch that bitch." Silmarwen's dainty fingers were curled into fists.

"It is foolish." Alistair was surprised to see Dyr agree. "I think shaman should be free but no person who turns to the magic of a Tevinter should live - free or caged. Was my peoples war with Tevinter for nought?"

"Is Tevinter really that bad?" Alistair asked to see Dyr turn to him, a flame of anger almost in her eyes.

"They enslaved Avvar, the children of Shartan and mabari alike, caging them and making them loyal with their blood magic, they conquered the known world. We fought back to see all men go free, everyone as equals and not under their tyrannical thumb. Would _you_ prefer to be a slave Alistair?"

"I mean, they have free mages right that aren't blood mages don't they?" He attempted.

"All Tevinters hold the same values. It is not a case of whether they wield magic or not. Plus, the Avvar have free shaman."

"And the Dalish have free mages." Silmarwen growled. "Obviously the older societies of Thedas know how things are supposed to be."

"You're the first Dalish I've ever seen that would deign speak to a human." Alistair turned to the elf, angry for some unknown reason. Why in the Maker's name was he angry at one of the happy elves? He already liked the two mages because they smiled and joked!

"Hurt my sister templar and-" Elrohir suddenly faltered. "There's a fucking rage demon at work here. Bastards, we've been talking too long."

The black robed mage spun on his feet, a pulsing aura summoned in his hands and sweat beading on his forehead. The demon came out from the other room toward them, burning a heated trail on the stone floor. Elrohir lifted his hands and the demon was lifted into the air, molten angry form thrashing madly in the swirling crackling cage made for him.

Wynne suddenly lowered and shot vicious spikes of ice through it, hardening the demon as it was crushed into small flurries of snow before it smoked grey, returning to the Fade. "That shouldn't have happened. Let's just get on with the task at hand." Loghain muttered. Everyone seemed to nod, the anger - the rage dissipated.

* * *

They fought through the sparse littering of hostile shaman, causing Dyrfinna to wonder exactly where they were? This Hold could easily hold hundreds of souls, and the Knight-Commander said over half his men didn't he were maimed or killed in this attack?

Obviously the sigils were working as the vile magic they did encounter was terribly weakened, but not normal magic, there was a lot of pan when the adrenaline of battle washed down, ebbing and flowing backward and forth.

She hated how her emotions were played by demon and theurge alike, the Hunger demons that looked to be starved corpses that had cross-bred with a shelled insect, the demons of Desire that floated ethereal and purple, scantily clad and horned, talons that cut and power wielded as they ran those talons down their curvaceous bodies.

It sickened her. Dyrfinna was sick of her emotions toyed with as they pounded the floors of the tower, not speaking for the incident on the second floor. They couldn't afford dissonance in their ranks, not with four powerful shaman that could turn on each other and each of the warriors skilled from slaying darkspawn and the training of life itself.

The First Enchanter - a man known as Henry Irving hadn't been in the office pointed out to her. They'd searched it for clues as to why this had started, finding notes from one called Uldred demanding that this Irving demanded more freedoms from the templars.

Loghain had grimaced at the name, even though none of them were speaking they closed the door of the office and quicky ascertained Uldred had been the bald shaman from the war council at Ostagar. Dyrfinna felt a pang of regret that the only survivors from that meeting were herself, Loghain and the shaman. The biddy that had called her a heathen had been slaughtered at Ostagar.

They opened the door and continued up the tower. Morrigan stayed behind in the office a while, staring at the bookcase. Dyrfinna slipped back as the rest of them passed. "Come on Morrigan, we need your magic should we survive this ordeal." She hissed quietly. The witch hmm'ed softly, her gaze never leaving the bookshelf before she pulled a heavy tome off, a black leather book with a leafless tree on the cover.

"Tis my mothers..." Morrigan trailed off.

"Take it then and let us carry on." Dyrfinna waited a while as Morrigan opened her satchel and slipped the large book within with a clattering of the baubles and other shiny items Morrigan seemed to collect. That woman was truly half magpie. She'd be shocked to hear if the witch couldn't change her form to a magpie actually.

* * *

Loghain found the third floor oddly quiet, with a cloying tang in the air that was blood. So this was where everyone had died or started fighting. They passed through a meeting hall of sorts, the ceiling vaulted high and long tables with dribbled candles on them.

Mages and templars alike were slumped where they'd died, some with their faces in their food and others with weaponry half-drawn. They'd been caught unawares.

He pursed his lips, he'd seen a lot of death and dead bodies in his time but stole a glance behind himself to see the three circle mages looking incredibly paled, as well as Alistair. Finna looked disturbed and angry at them and Oghren didn't seem to be bothered either way.

"That's where Ulred was when this started." Wynne breathed, a shaking arm pointed to an ornate chair, higher than most of the others. Everyone remained wordless, starting to speak could lead to any influence demons were trying to exert on them being brought out on others.

They moved carefully over the cooling bodies and stiffened corpses, just how long had this been happening? Some blood looked fresh. A groan pierced the silence and widened eyes all turned to it, the scrape of weaponry and the light fizzing of magic being drawn up to be used at an instant.

Loghain's eyes nearly popped from their sockets at the boneless way the corpse was standing up, clammy grey skin making a wet snap every so often. That corpse was still in rigors then.

Everyone stayed still as those clouded eyes swivelled in their sockets, the corpse moved almost suddenly, flesh still snapping when it almost impaled itself, mouth open on Alistair's sword as it rushed to the ex-templar. Throaty hoarse laughter came from the corpse as congealed blood slipped down to the floor, arms thrashing wildly as it continued to try and attack.

Alistair was quick, removing his sword and plunging it into the neck of the corpse. A faint light glowed about the corpse when it fell back to the floor again. "Possession after death by demon." Alistair explained with a huff. "Destroy the head, remove the head or sever the spine."

"Templar training?" Silmarwen snorted.

A cacophony of groans sounded and the Warden group spun to the sound, Oghren was the first to start hacking away at the rising corpses, Finna and Alistair quick after him and Loghain moved into gear, protecting the mages from physical attack as they cast spells directed at the heads of the corpses, the sickly sound of rigor touched flesh cracking with movement and the odd squelch of older corpses moving before the rotted smell of burning filled his nostrils.

Was this why their dead were burnt? To stop this from happening? He supposed he must have heard this before but seeing the dead rising was quite sickening - could it happen to anyone? He'd have to ask one of the mages.

"Never have I fought a corpse before. This is why the dead need their funeral rites done." Finna growled when the re-slaughtering was over.

"And our funeral rites." Alistair smirked uneasily to the Avvar woman.

"Don't think dwarves just get up when they die." Oghren grunted.

"The shaman could not do their magic while a corpse..." Finna furrowed her brow.

"Not unless a demon from higher in the hierarchy possesses us." Silmarwen frowned, still very pale. "I don't want to be here much more, I knew most of these people."

Finna nodded to the elven mage and put her sword to lean on her shoulder, beckoning two of the mages to stand beside her to warn of demons ahead.

They left the meeting hall and found themselves in a long corridor, flesh crawling up the stone like vines on a trellis. Loghain clenched his jaw against the smell of it, his stomach lurched in rebellion though.

"Abomination!" Morrigan shouted, orange light threading up her slender arms and her staff invigorated with the same light up the gnarled wood.

"Sleep." The drowsy word filled the air and Morrigan staggered, the swamp witch planted her staff into the flesh on the ground, holding onto it for dear life.

"I will not sleep on this floor, tis sticky with blood." But even her words betrayed her as she slid down the staff, landing face first into the flesh with a smack.

"Fight it - we must fight this!" Wynne chided before she hit the floor too.

"Wow, I feel sleepy, do you feel sleepy?" Alistair yawned, as if nobody else had fallen on the floor.

"Sleep." The rest of them had been running as if through treacle to get to the abomination and another wave of drowsiness filled Loghain, he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Fucking sloth demon." Silmarwen groaned, on the floor and snoring loudly.

"Agreed." Her brother moaned before he white-haired elf was on the floor.

"Sodding asschabing demon." Oghren was already asleep on his feet, staggered into the wall and slipping down the slick flesh there, his snore louder than the elven mage's one.

Asgrim was growling as he crumpled to the floor and his mistress looked briefly at the hound before steeling herself, her movements staggered as they tried to keep going though. "Damn." She fell to the floor, skidding slightly.

Loghain blinked but his eyes wouldn't open again. "Sleep." The cloying voice filled his entire world and he hit the floor hard.

"Damn indeed." He groaned.


	22. The Mind's Eye

Author note: Oh I love and hate the fade, I really do. I love it for the evilness I'm about to do - as I'm a skewed person and hate it for the break in 'saving the tower' stuff.

Regardless, AU nightmares for everyone! You can't have me write a story and not expect AU right?

Also - I hated writing this chapter. Magda went on holiday for this one. Bitch.

Oh - spoilers for The Stolen Throne and Asunder within, only slight spoilers though.

Also, I borrowed the idea of 'whimsical elves' from the lovely **dominicgrim **- basically their ears are more sensitive, their eyesight a damned lot better and their ears reflect their emotions! Obviously the only elf really interacted with or noticed too much in this fic so far was Pick. And Silmarwen and Elrohir. But the humans don't really notice too much...

* * *

Elrohir grit his teeth, opening his eyes. Did he get hit in the head?

"Wake up sleepyhead! You're late for your vallaslin ceremony!" He looked up to see the wooden beams of an aravel, felt beneath him the soft furs of his bed.

What was that dream he'd been having? Or was it a nightmare? Elrohir could have sworn he'd been taken from his clan and put in Kinloch Hold. He'd met his sister again. A familiar face, vallaslin honouring June poked into the aravel, her face lit up.

"Are you even awake?" He grinned at the face, his friend Mahariel! It was all a bad dream. Elrohir shifted, clicking out his neck.

"Sleepy still I suppose." He sighed, lifting a hand to his forehead to dispel the ache there with a touch of healing. Mahariel shook her head, golden strands of hair falling over her face as she scampered into the aravel, kneeling next to him.

"You can't heal, silly halla." She tutted, bringing a glowing blue hand to his head. He sighed, the pain disappearing.

But something wasn't right here. Mahariel was the daughter of their old Keeper, she got her gift of magic from him, Elrohir knew that. But she wasn't around during the time he was supposed to be getting his vallaslin. She'd had to go to Tevinter because she was a sominari, a dreamer...

"What are you doing here Gilraen?" He asked, trying to think why this was so odd... something wasn't right here.

"Healing you after you decided to be a naughty First and drink all the distilled wine Tamlen and Fenarel made for the celebrations." She tutted. That was what made him realise this wasn't Mahariel. She would have scolded him for calling her by her first name. She hated it, Mahariel was not this friendly woman but a harsh one, sharp about the edges.

"Who are you?" He furrowed his brow, narrowing his eyes at the fellow mage.

"Did you drink that much Elrohir?" Her eyes widened and her ears drooped sadly. "Poor halla, you won't drink so much next time will you?"

But something wasn't right. He wasn't the First. That was Merrill, Mahariel and himself weren't needed by any other clans at the moment so hadn't been given to others during the Arlathven. Merrill had been given to the Sabrae when it looked like there weren't going to be any mages in their clan. They'd both manifested quite late in their lives.

"Who are you?" He squinted again.

"Keeper Mahariel." The elf frowned, her ears twitching. "Oh, I hear Hahren Paivel is starting the drumming. Come on. Do you know which God you will honour today lethallin?"

"You aren't Mahariel." He stated, crossing his arms over his chest. How did he get here, his memory was fuzzy but he remembered something about a demon... and sleep.

"Of course I am." She looked taken aback and shifted over to him, placing a cool hand on his forehead. His ears twitched in annoyance. "You're burning up. Perhaps we should postpone the vallaslin ceremony."

"You aren't real." He stood up and looked at her, he shook his head as the image of his fellow clansmate flickered, a desire demon - he could have sworn she looked like a desire demon was there. "I'm in the Beyond. In the Fade. Release me from this trickery demon."

"You are happy here." The false Mahariel stated, brilliant blue eyes flashing purple for a moment. "Stay, you know you'll be happy. Why would you leave?"

"My body will waste away to nothing demon. Now begone." He huffed, striding past her and out of the aravel.

He lurched into raw Fade, almost sickened by the shift of familiar to rolling landscape, distant islands shifting around the hazy place, in the furthest distance a great black city. Of course, every doorway of sorts was an actual doorway in the Fade. Henry would have his guts for garters not remembering that.

He glance backward to see a poorly made wooden frame where he'd walked out of. He could have been there, he could have been back with his clan for a few moments.

He shook the errant thoughts from his head, the memories becoming clearer. He was in Kinloch Hold, saving it from blood magic and from what he'd garnered - the Right of Annulment. There were Wardens. He was going to be made a Warden.

The thoughts centred him in the desolate plains, staring out at doorways. His companions, he knew they were trapped here too. But any one of these doorways could be anyone who was sleeping at the moment - anywhere in Thedas.

He hadn't listened too carefully when Keeper Marethari had tried to teach Mahariel the ways of the sominari, the dreamers.

"I heard your distress ma vhenan." He turned almost violently to the voice, teeth bared and hands poised to put the demon in a crushing prison when the face was definitely not a mask worn by a demon.

All angles and those shimmering eyes, hair flaxen and braided elaborately with red ribbon. It was Mahariel, older than she'd been last, a heavy golden necklace with a dragon's head with red ruby eyes falling into the soft white robes she was clad it, bunched at one shoulder with a golden clasp pinning it to her and sandals almost like vines weaving up her tanned calves.

"Well, are you going to gawk and gasp or are you planning on freeing your friends?" She tutted, a very familiar scowl on her tattooed face. This was the woman that haunted his dreams, he loved her through the communication they shared, the comfort she'd given in his imprisonment over the distance that parted them. He should have followed her to Tevinter. He wished he'd had. Elrohir missed her brisk attitude and seeing her in the flesh.

"Emm'asha." He bowed his head respectfully to the more powerful mage, humbled that she would help him.

"Oh do stop bowing, I have enough of it in the fellow Altus." Mahariel sighed.

"Gilraen... I..." The scowl on her face could have burned demons completely to ashes. It was her! "Please help me, I need to get out of this damned tower. I'll demand not to be made a Warden, I want to join you in Tevinter ma sa'lath."

"And I you da'vhenan." The scowl was replaced by a small smile, fleeting. She stepped cautiously to him, eclipsing him in tan arms, holding the back of his head into her shoulder as a mother would cradle her young. She'd been trained as a Keeper before she'd left, it was in her nature to care even if she could scold demons worse than anything he'd ever seen.

Elrohir sighed, missing this so much. But time was fluid in the Fade, he could have been here five seconds or five hours for all he knew. Mahariel gently trailed her fingers up his ear, gently letting him go. "Well, this is no time for reunions, I shall await you soon ma vhenan. But we really should get moving. This demon of sloth holds your friends in dreams and nightmares, feeding off their emotions. We can't let him get stronger."

"Of course." Elrohir sighed. "We should go about this logically then, save the ones in nightmares first?"

"No, the demon feeds strongly from them. It will revolt and try to kill them should they be broken from their planes of the Fade." Mahariel shook her head. "No, we just go to the closest. I can trick the demon into believing we're all still entrapped."

"Then lead the way." he smiled wistfully and grabbed her hand, holding it up to his lips. "Ma'arlath." He whispered into her skin.

"And I you." She smiled coquettishly back. "Let's move."

She held his hand until they came to a doorway like any other. "This one is under the influence of Sloth also. I can hold this doorway to believe he's still dreaming but I can't join you for now."

"It's all right." He sighed, letting go of her hand and pausing at the doorway. "Wish me luck."

"Na via lerno victoria." Mahariel's hands lit up with iridescent green as she held onto the splintered wood. Elrohir took a deep breath and walked forward.

* * *

Oghren groaned, sodding Ancestors tits what had he drunk last night cycle? He giggled, looking down the alleyway he'd fallen asleep in, remembering Cora the barmaid's sharp tongue about all that ale he'd spilled on the floor when he was quaffing.

Now he felt knurd, too fucking sober to be of any good, he wiped his hands on his knees, chuckling as he stood. Oghren wondered if he still had that tab going at Tapsters.

He staggered, trying to hold onto the wall as his mind spun. Shards and stone... he felt like he'd gone and licked the lichen in Dust Town or a foot. Argh...

A sinking feeling filled him. How did he really get here? Was he mugged? He remembered an Ash Warrior, a pike-twirler and someone grumpy... and some sparklefingered cloudheads.

Just what had he drunk and where could he get it again? Why did he feel like he'd had an axe recently? Oghren blinked as a willowy creature stumbled out of the back-door of Tapsters, groaning and clutching his head.

"Oh I really hate the Fade." It moaned, a musical voice. It wore black and had really white hair in a ponytail. Hehehe, a girl then. Time for Oghren to be Oghren.

He sauntered up as casually as possible, wiping the saliva off his lips with the back of his hand and leaning into the wall, eyes travelling up the skinny thing. Really needed more meat on those bones, but that weren't a problem. "Hey there sweet cheeks, looking for a good time?" He waggled his eyebrows.

The willowy girl turned to him, blinking huge unnaturally green eyes. "Great, the drunken dwarf first."

That was an oddly low voice for a girl. "Oghren! Get your stinking arse back into the house! Junior's hungry!" He spun like a top to the voice to see his old ball and chain glaring daggers at him from the end of the alleyway. "Ancestors arse you've been drinking again!"

Oghren furrowed his brow. He didn't have any junior Oghren's running about as far as he knew... Branka certainly didn't have any. But that was the way it was supposed to have been right? It must've stopped her from running into the deep roads to get that sodding Anvil of the Void. Why did he remember going to the surface and not falling into the sky? And arguing... a sodding lot of arguing...

"Oghren, listen to me, this is an illusion." The willowy girl said, he turned back to it, most probably suicidal because Branka would rip his spine out for not listening to her. "You're in a place called the Fade."

"Huh?" He tilted his head, blinking heavily. "You're one of those... elves. Yeah - what're you doin' in Orzammar?"

"Could you just take my hand Oghren, and follow me?" The elf sighed, grabbed his hand and pulled him with some weird strength into Tapsters through the back door.

* * *

Elrohir groaned, the drunken dwarf was laying over him in the raw Fade, belching. Nasty, disgusting dwarf. He didn't like that dream, he could feel the weight of the stone surrounding him like a chokehold. It was horrid.

The dwarf spluttered looking up at Mahariel before scrambling off him, kicking him in the stomach in the attempt. "Hey there, what's a girl like you doing in a weird arse place like this?" Seemingly the raw Fade didn't bother him.

"Dwarf, you are in the Fade, just follow us as we rescue your companions." Mahariel sighed. "Come on Elrohir, more people to find. You have odd friends."

"I barely know them actually." He admitted, dusting himself off as he stood. "So the next one then. This was oodles of fun."

Mahariel strode with him, her blue eyes scanning the landscape as if she knew it intimately - which Elrohir supposed she did. Being a sominari sounded like a horrid thing, Mahariel coped though, she was like a shining beacon, her power alluring and at the same time scaring demons.

"This one." She said finally. "This one contains another bound by sloth." Gilraen gestured for him to go through the doorway as her hands lit up again with the deep green iridescence. Elrohir sighed and walked through the door.

* * *

Shouting, Loghain couldn't breathe with it all around him, the distant shrieking and the clattering of steel on steel. He looked backwards and forth between his father and Sister Ailis... he couldn't could he?

He glared hatefully at his companion. Ever since this morning he'd lied, lied through his teeth over what he was, who he was. Maric.

Now he was having to leave the outlaws, having to leave his father, _Ser_ Gareth - newly knighted by this lickspittle he had to take back to the rebels. He went to open the door of the cabin that Maric - not Hyram as the foolish Prince had told them - when it burst open, a tall willowy fellow stumbling in.

"Now who are you?" It coughed, a low almost musical voice. He looked up and wiped back a loose strand of white hair behind a very long pointed ear.

Loghain faltered... the Orlesians didn't tend to have elven soldiers. He instinctively went to grab the dagger on his belt when the elf looked between him and Maric. "I know now. Come on Alistair."

The elf went to grab Maric - just how many aliases did the rebel Prince have? "Did you call me Alistair?" Maric squinted his eyes at the elf. "I have no idea who you are."

"Wait..." The elf blinked at the people in the cabin, his father, himself, Sister Ailis and Maric. "Wrong person. Wow you humans look so similar to me. Loghain - follow me!"

Loghain had had enough, he went to lash out at the elf when it opened the door and pushed him from behind through. Damned...

* * *

Elrohir followed Loghain through the doorway. He didn't know these people well enough to argue here, it was a quick - get them through the doorway.

He noticed Oghren and Loghain were still in the forms he'd found them in. Loghain a lot younger and in leathers rather than the Grey Warden plate armour and Oghren in stinking tunic and britches. Gilraen suddenly put her hands out, paralysing Loghain as he turned about with dagger in hand.

"Loghain Mac Tir, you really do have odd friends Elrohir." Mahariel smiled, a small laugh in her voice. "You should calm yourself. You're in the Fade, what you've just experienced was an illusion. It didn't just happen."

"I think he's a Grey Warden. Dyrfinna called him Warden-Constable when we were in Irving's office." Elrohir racked his brains.

Loghain struggled in the paralysing glyph. "Grumpy pants!" Oghren cheered. "Wondered when you was gonna show up!"

Gilraen Mahariel let the gylph dissipate and Loghain dropped to the floor. "I thought... it could have been a damned dream. I wanted to stay - do things differently." Elrohir was shocked, just where had they been then? Loghain pursed his lips and the sound was almost wounded he made, half growl half sob.

"Come Loghain, you need to be strong." Gilraen put his hand to his shoulder, a rare smile on her lips.

Loghain turned his icy gaze to the sominari, wordlessly standing and looking around. Elrohir took a deep breath of the sensual Fade air and asked Mahariel to take them to the next closest of his new companions.

* * *

Alistair latched onto the mabari, holding it by the scruff of the neck as he woke up. With trembling hands he let go, staring at everything around him... huh?

He could have sworn... Maker's breath was a horrible dream, people dying and monsters. He looked behind him to the chestnut fur of the mabari and snuggled back into her. "You're lovely aren't you Rabbit." He cooed, brushing his face against the fur, scrawny hands patting her flank.

Rabbit treated him like her pup, ever since he'd known how to walk she'd been at his side, lending a back for his childish balance to falter to, chiding him with a nip should he fall and licking his face clean of the general dirt he seemed to collect.

Living in the kennels wasn't so bad with Rabbit here, her puppies had bonded to knights and other good people in Redcliffe but Rabbit was his - his spare mother.

Alistair remembered his mother had died. A serving girl. Most of the serving girls were elves and that's why Alistair supposed he was looked after here rather than put in the Chantry. If word dared get out that a half-elven bastard like himself existed... well it wasn't going to be a better life in store for him.

He recently heard a whispering about him having a sister. Bann Teagan and Arl Eamon had been saying something. Alistair wondered if he could speak to the girl he'd know if he was half elven or not. He knew elves and humans that had children had human children but... well, if the girl was human it wouldn't mean anything but she'd know who his mother was. Perhaps he'd be able to live with her?

Maybe when he was older they could share glasses of wine and jokes like Bann Teagan and Arl Eamon did? Then he'd have to leave Rabbit.

Subconsciously he snuggled back into Rabbit's fur, rubbing his other hand over her swollen belly. She was going to have pups soon.

The light streaming in through the half door of the kennels was darkened somewhat and Alistair turned blearily to focus hazel eyes at the black clad figure that had stumbled over the top of the kennel door, wheezing like it'd just jumped into Lake Calenhad during First Day. He noticed it had long pointy ears and really, really white hair. Like incredibly white. Like fluffy clouds or newly fallen snow.

The elf looked up at him, unnaturally green eyes focused on him... Oh no, what had he done now? Was this servant told to collect him for something he'd done wrong? "Alistair?" It choked, a low rumble of a voice that sounded like he was singing.

"Erm... that's me Ser. I didn't do nothing I swear!" He went to hide behind Rabbit when deft hands picked him up around the middle and held him close to a warm chest. Instinctively, Alistair kicked out.

"Lemme go! I didn't do nothing!" He complained.

"Creators child you weigh a tonne." The elf complained throwing him over the hatchway out of the kennels.

* * *

Elrohir stumbled back out into the raw Fade to see Alistair as a scrawny boy being restrained by Oghren and Gilraen trying to calm him down. "Elgar'nan ma sa'lath what did you do to the da'len?" Mahariel moaned.

"Nothing." He shrugged, holding his stomach to quell the sickness of going from plane to plane of the Fade so quickly. It really was like jumping into someone's mind, things distorted to how they viewed it.

"I'm not in the Fade! This is the dream! I want to go back to Rabbit and the kennels! It was warm there!" Child-Alistair complained, trying to kick the chuckling drunk dwarf.

"Maker's breath!" Loghain exclaimed... "Alistair?"

The child raised his head to the adolescent Loghain, blinking as if afraid. "W-what Ser?"

"It really is... You're Maric's... you have to be." Loghain swiped a hand through his black hair, hand shaking.

The child stopped lashing out, staring up at the young man who was staring back equally as much. "Um..." The child looked down, shifting his feet in the ground. "Maybe... possibly... yes?"

"And where did you say you lived?" Loghain crouched down to be level with Alistair in his new height. Loghain was a very tall human.

"Redcliffe. Rabbit was my mabari! She's like my mother... 'cept my mama died giving birth to me. I live in the kennels with her and sometimes I see the Arl and his pretty wife... she doesn't like me." Alistair looked sheepishly down again.

Loghain got up with a grunt and click of his knees. "There's going to be a lot of pain for a certain Arl if I ever see him again." He stated. Alistair's eyes widened.

"But! But Ser!" He tried to get Loghain's attention. "Ser... Arl Eamon looks after me, I get food and shelter living with Arl Eamon!"

Loghain didn't respond to the boy. "Well then Mahariel - take us to the next one, the sooner we're all freed the sooner we can destroy this damned demon."

Elrohir and Gilraen sighed together and she reached for his hand, holding it tightly as she held a hand out as if to divine where the next of the Warden group was. "I'm looking forward to meeting this Warden-Commander. If she can have Loghain as her second she must be a tough cookie."

"You mean that dream was really real!" Alistair moaned... "then... then you're Loghain and... you're Oghren... and you're Elrohir?"

"Glad to have you back pike-twirler." Oghren laughed.

"Please don't tell anyone I fell for that... please?"

* * *

Wynne huffed, trying to force herself to breathe properly. She balled her fists into her pillow, willing herself not to cry. She wouldn't cry in front of the templars.

They'd just taken him. Taken Rhys - she'd given out from the pain, unable to heal herself. Wynne had drifted into a horrible nightmare before she'd awoken, still aching and sore, trying to heal herself.

Wynne resolved she'd never be in pain like this again. Nobody would. She'd take better notes during Enchanter Sweeney's lessons on Spirit Healing. Nobody would be hurt.

The emptiness filled her completely and she lifted off the pillow to wipe back her cropped blonde hair. "Come on Wynne, you knew this was going to happen." She sighed to herself, almost trying to accept that this was just life... it happened to every mage that got caught out.

Every mage that got pregnant. She'd barely been able to hold the squalling babe though, hardly seen if he looked anything like his father. His father that got sent to the circle in Montsimmard for carrying on with a mage.

"Wynne?" The voice startled her. She knew that voice... the voice from her dream? That couldn't be could it? Wynne looked up to see an angular elven face, white hair pulled back severely to leave his pale skin and brilliant green eyes like shimmering pools full of... full of that sadness she felt right now.

Wynne couldn't put a name to the face but scrambled off the bunk, throwing her arms around the elven man. "Follow me Wynne, you need to follow me." The elf said quietly, holding onto her as he stepped backwards toward the dormitory door.

Wynne just held on, the need for contact, the hug overriding the thoughts that the templars would see her like this. She needed this hug.

* * *

Elrohir passed the younger Wynne over to Mahariel, the sominari love of his life whispering exactly what had happened until Wynne looked up, believing the golden haired elf.

"How did you know it was me Elrohir?" She asked, her voice smaller.

"Please, only you or Anders has a cat carved into your staff and your staff was propped against the bunk." Elrohir quipped, bringing a smile to Wynne's youthful face.

"I happen to think cats are nice young man, much nicer than certain newly harrowed mages sometimes."

"You're hardly in the position to call me young man at the moment." He carried on quipping.

Wynne rolled her eyes, a small smile on her face. "Come on then, we have a tower to save."

* * *

Morrigan scowled at Flemeth - making her act the braying donkey for oversleeping.

Flemeth wished to gather another man, a conquest. Show Morrigan just how ephemeral love and such useless things were. Morrigan scoffed. Of course she knew this.

But still she brayed, kicking over the merchant's cart for Flemeth as she scolded and cried, pretending to be a weak woman in the eyes of the man she desired.

Morrigan gave a desperate kick into his leg, overjoyed at the look of genuine hatred in Flemeth's eyes.

Of course - she knew this was false. She was a mage, a powerful mage. If a demon wished to think she wanted to see Flemeth playing the weak woman when she knew that the ancient witch was not then so be it. Just give the shapeshifter the chance to set fire to the fool.

Suddenly an elf ran through the doors to the Lothering Chantry, huffing like his lungs were on fire. He scanned the landscape for someone no-doubt when Morrigan realised it was the same elf from the cattle mage's tower. She transformed into her true form and crossed her arms. "Well, where is the portal out of this wretched place?" She sighed, tutting and her foot tapping the dusty mud of the ground.

The elf looked shocked, green eyes widened. "You knew? All right then, follow me then witch." He turned quickly on the spot and bid her after him with a long finger. Morrigan groaned and trudged behind him up the steps into the Chantry... what a horrid place to put the portal into the Fade.

The witch cast a glance back as the demons continued their farce, not even caring if she was present or not. Truly pathetic.

* * *

Elrohir lurched back into the raw Fade, the witch sauntering behind casually. "And these fools believed the fallacy they were placed in?" She muttered, contempt almost dripping from her words.

Loghain, Alistair, Oghren and Wynne could have burnt the witch where she stood with their glaring. Elrohir noted that as he and Morrigan had realised the trick they were both as they were in the real world. Or perhaps... no Wynne was a mage. It wasn't that these mundanes couldn't place themselves back into their proper forms.

"Mahariel, meet Morrigan. Witch of the Wilds." He gestured. "Morrigan, Gilraen Mahariel, sominari and Altus of the Tevinter Imperium."

"Joy, are you a blood mage?" Morrigan pursed her plump lips, yellow eyes narrowed but not angry. She was quite enjoying herself to what he could see.

"No, demons hold no power which I can't have, I happen to be one of the most powerful and one of the few sominari of my generation." Mahariel's snide comment back shocked the witch.

"There are more?" Her tone was definitely shocked.

"Two more I have sensed. Both in need of guidance and one which would hate to come to Tevinter to train properly. A pity." Mahariel shrugged.

"Don't we 'ave other people ta find?" Oghren sniffed.

"Yes, come along then Warden group. We shan't dilly dally long in the Fade, it's been two hours since I met up with Elrohir anyway."

"Two hours!" Elrohir couldn't help but gasp. Could it really have been that long? He wasn't the sominari here by he reckoned he was a fairly competent mage.

"What in er Void is a sommy thingy?" Oghren grunted aloud.

"A sominari is a mage capable of manipulating the Fade itself, as well as tricking demons." Mahariel answered with a sniff. "Ah, ma vhenan this door too - I sense the sloth demon's paws all over this one."

"Right. A kiss for luck emm'asha?" He grinned as he passed by the elf with the shimmering blue eyes. Mahariel gave him a wry grin, pecking him softly on the lips before pushing him through the doorway.

* * *

Dyrfinna held tight to the wooden crib, closing her eyes briefly. Could Thorarin please, Korth please? Be quiet for one moment.

She'd fallen asleep for what couldn't have been more than a minute, a nightmare and the wails of her newborn bringing her back out of the dreamworld. Lowlanders... she'd been around so many lowlanders and the most horrid of creatures. She sighed and picked the screaming child up in his swaddles, holding him tight to her hip and rocking him with short choppy sways, humming to keep her sanity.

Please, shhh young one. She could pray that this wasn't Hakkon Wintersbreath tempering her, she really could but that would be utterly false. Of course the God wished her to become more, tempered by this and more in her lifetime.

She just wanted to sleep again, Erlend was stuck in the shearing shed with Skormr and Elsa - a difficult lambing. A niggle formed in her temples... something seemed wrong about that. "Shh young one, you shall bring the mountain down upon us with this racket." Dyrfinna babbled, stroking idly at the downy fluff on the back of his head and readjusting him on her hip.

It was sudden the way the Child of Shartan jerked into the bedroom, a black robe and white hair, coughing. "Creators, that noise!" It covered it's pointed ears, gritting it's teeth.

"What are you doing here?" Dyrfinna quickly put Thorarin back in his crib and brushed to the pair of scissors on the changing table for his swaddles. She held herself ready to attack, to protect.

"Warden-Commander?" The elf put his hands out as a sign of peace. "Calm down. None of this is real."

Dyrfinna growled at the white-haired elf, worried about her son... what did he call her? Why did she remember ropes of black corruption in tunnels with barely any light? She faltered, shaking her head and getting back to the situation at hand.

"Stay back. I will kill you lowlander should you present a threat." She warned, although it would be a struggle, pushing the elf back and getting a good stab to the neck or eyes...

The elf paused a moment before a grin lit up on his pointed face. "Catch me barbarian." He turned on the spot and ran out of the door, Dyrfinna spared a glance back to her son and decided. No threat would get into her Hold, her house and then get out alive again.

* * *

Elrohir huffed, running back out of the doorway. "Catch her and restrain her when she comes out." He shouted. He spun on the spot to see Dyrfinna come chasing after him in the yellow dress with the fur, those blunt scissors in hand. Loghain grabbed her by the arm and Gilraen put her hands out, paralysing the Avvar woman to the spot.

"Welcome to the raw Fade, I trust to have questions but listen for the moment Warden-Commander. At the moment you are free of the sloth demon's hold but still in his domain. As you can see you are surrounded by people you know in the forms they were in, in their own dreams."

"Hey boss, sweet arse you have there." Oghren whistled to the paralysed woman.

"I'm going to drop the glyph but I don't want to be attacked. I'm a sominari, a mage that can warp the Fade itself and I'm helping my love Elrohir escape this nightmare with all of you - trapped against your will as you were." Mahariel flicked her wrists and the Avvar woman slumped to the floor.

"I... was not back with my clan... this dream was real?" She said, her voice small before she straightened out, standing with some inner strength burning in her honey coloured eyes, wiping her fringe back. "Well damn it this theurge is going to die."

"That's the spirit!" Mahariel shook a fist triumphantly. "I sense three more still entrapped... Come on then."

"Oghren, you say another word about my behind and these scissors touch your beard." Dyrfinna muttered as they all started to follow Gilraen.

"Gotcha boss, wouldn't want to step on grumpy pants' toes now would I?" Oghren sniggered.

"Wait..." Alistair scrunched his eyes, looking up at both the taller Wardens. "Really?"

"Yes." Loghain supplied. "And you're telling everyone when we're safe again exactly who your father was Alistair."

"Oh yeah... I'll have to do that won't I?" The ex-templar and illusionary child fidgeted as they walked. "But really? You two? And didn't you say the only dress you ever wore Dyr was - you know?"

"My wedding dress? I only own the one dress, it is also the dress I was married in." The Warden-Commander shrugged, the fur around the neckline shifting up with her pale shoulders.

"You look real pretty, like a girl." Oghren nudged Loghain on the hip with his elbow. "Don't she?"

"I've never thought Finna didn't look like a girl." Loghain snapped to the dwarf.

"Thank you - both of you. Now we have a demon no?" Dyrfinna tutted. "Let us be done with this place."

"More than agreed." Loghain muttered. "But... you do look nice."

"I have the dress stored on Mr Rabbit. I figured you lowlanders like dressing up as we had to for Lord Harrowmont. I will not have our resident painted lowlander complaining I look wrong in one."

Loghain chuckled and the sound was actually quite odd on the taciturn man.

* * *

Asgrim looked up at the elf that wandered into his warm tent, curled up to his mistress and the mate he knew she would take. The elf whistled and he got up, the mabari knew this was false.

He knew his mistress did not like him within the tent and would not appreciate it when her mate was around. She allowed him in during the time they were back in the snow because she did not wish him to freeze but now they were back in the muddy lands he would go into the tent of the one that carried the food in his pockets.

Or the funny blond one. He liked Asgrim even if he was loud in his sleeping. The elf brought him through the tent flaps and he saw his mistress again! He bounded over to her and she crouched so he could lick her face.

Asgrim was overjoyed to be back with his mistress, he loved her with all of his mabari heart. He looked over to the one that carried food in his pockets. The black-haired man looked different, younger but he still smelled the same. He knelt down and rubbed his ears.

"I think he wishes food. Did you keep food in your pockets when you were younger?" His mistress asked to the one who carried the food.

"No. Damn mutt can stop scrounging." Asgrim moped at that and a tall golden haired one with white billowy clothes snapped her fingers.

"Isn't he adorable!" Asgrim turned to the blond one that made the loud noises as he slept, he knew the smell of the blond one. He put his hands on his hackles, brushing softly and reverently on the fur there. Asgrim shook out... he smelt another dog on the blond one.

He stuck his nose at the belly of the blond one... it smelled female. "Get down Asgrim. Alistair's belly isn't for you to sniff." His mistress scolded. He complied.

* * *

Niall smiled. It was nice to be on the island, away from society and those that hated mages, it was so much nicer just to have a society of their own, away from everything known - starting anew.

He looked behind him to see a familiar figure come out of the cave. He knew that one - Elrohir? "Good to see you friend. Well, I suppose not. I know how you got here."

The white haired elf furrowed his brow. "Niall, I didn't even know you were here. You can come with us, become a Warden. Come to Tevinter with me. I'm going to find Mahariel, I'm sure she'd love to have you there too."

Niall shook his head. "Truth be told I'm happy. Look, the demon will know when all his dreamers get taken regardless of any magic your Mahariel can do. I'm staying behind. I'm not made out for this world and you know it. Let me... die happy."

Elrohir stood with mouth agape in the windswept terrain, the warring emotions running across his face. "You... really wish this my friend?"

"Yes. I... I've been here too long anyway. I can feel how cold my real body is. I have a scroll in my hand, the Litany of Andralla. It should fight against any domination the blood mages can put on you. Can you just do one thing for me Elrohir?"

"Anything friend." The elf pursed his lips, taking a deep breath.

"Can you find my... my love. Gwendoline. Take her with you to Tevinter. No questions asked. If she still lives I just want her in a place no-one can hurt her for being a mage." Elrohir bit his lip.

"I... I think she was one of the corpses that reanimated in the main hall. I'm so sorry Niall." Niall shook his head.

"I'll be back with her at the Maker's side then." Niall took a deep breath. "Remember the litany then my friend, and don't let Uldred get us all killed in this stupid revolt."

"Don't you worry Niall." Niall rushed forward and hugged the elven mage close.

"Thank you."

* * *

Elrohir felt so wrong, leaving Niall in the Fade. But - it was what he wanted. He didn't think he'd live outside the Fade from his wasted body and... and Gwendoline had died. His lovely Nevarran mage love.

"No friend ma sa'lath?" Mahariel questioned him. He sighed.

"No, he wishes to stay behind. He is dying. Niall - wishes to stay here and live the fantasy he wants before he succumbs to death."

"I see. I'm sorry ma vhenan." Gilraen put a hand on his jaw, lifting his face to hers before kissing him softly on the cheek. "So who would be this last friend of yours?"

"My sister, Silmarwen." Elrohir gulped. So far most of the dreams had made the people within them experience something strong - Loghain looked like he was burning with hate, Dyrfinna looked so tired but happy, Oghren looked hungover - if that was an emotion, Alistair looked happy, Wynne was so upset, Asgrim looked pleased as a dog could be, Morrigan seemed angered. He could only hope Silmarwen looked happy.

* * *

Silmarwen's head flopped onto the table, groaning at all the work. She knew the Primal school of magic, knew it like the back of her hand. Why Enchanter Torrin wanted a four thousand word essay on the uses between rocks and lightning only the Creators knew.

"Tired Mari?" She picked her head up from the table, rubbing the spot of red that she was sure the wood would have depressed into her forehead and blushing ridiculously at the templar leaning onto her table and books.

"I'm still studying to get into the Wardens. You remember when they came to the tower and Greagoir almost kicked that commander fellow out. He wanted to conscript mages. I want to get out of here and so can you... Cullen - we can be together properly in the Grey Wardens." She smiled, still blushing deeply until she could feel her cheeks burning.

"That didn't answer my question." He grinned. Something wasn't right here... it niggled in her temples like a buzzing bee. The Wardens... she met them. There was a woman with a tattoo over her eyes that asked her if she wanted to join them.

And why was Cullen being so smooth all of a sudden? She furrowed her brow at the templar with the curly strawberry-blond hair and that lovely stubbly beard. "You're not Cullen." The words came out almost in an accusing fashion.

The templar looked taken aback. "Then who do you think I am?" He smirked. Definitely not Cullen then.

"Silmarwen!" She snapped her head to the voice and almost flew out of the seat to hug her brother. "Oh thank the Creators you're all right. I was so worried lethallan!"

"Elrohir - you were imprisoned... wait... there was a thing... blood mages."

"Come on sister, you're in a nightmare, in the Fade ensorcelled by a demon of sloth." Elrohir pulled at her green robes by the long sleeve.

Silmarwen's eyes widened when she realised the truth of it. Damn and double damn... Fucking sloth demons.

There was going to be one less demon in the fade when she was done zapping it to the Black City and back!


	23. The Restoration of Kinloch Hold

Author note: Those were glimpses and emotional responses I believe the sloth demon would want from people don't you think? Unconditional love tempered with tiredness from Dyrfinna, hatred marred with duty from Loghain, a sense of abandonment and belonging from Alistair, Wynne's crushing sadness, Elrohir's sense of belonging and love, Asgrim's devotion, Oghren's - drunkenness (because it felt how things should have gone for him), Morrigan's contempt and exasperation, Silmarwen's frustration and fleeting romance - all quite powerful if short lived. Which if you think about it in detail - is how most of the people live their lifes. Plus Niall and his peace in solitude. Oddly poetic no?

Anyway, Magda has returned from her whirlwind holiday and was quite pleased with my progress despite her absence. She gave me these ideas now...

* * *

Dyrfinna felt so weak, so wretched for believing the fallacy of being returned to a time she would have given her sword arm for. Even in the dreamworld she was acutely aware of the power the shaman that was swathed in soft white robes held. Mahariel and Gilraen - both were her names and she was both hard - unforgiving and yet an emotional soft creature that held fast.

Mahariel was a guide in the hazed land of the dreamworld, taking no notice of the shifting islands that floated like mist, the blackened Hold that seemed so close as to be only a finger's width away from being touched and yet so distant it burned with longing to be reached. Dyrfinna's mind wandered to the old ballads, of the time of the Tevinters that lifted the mountain of the Gods and blackened it with their tainted natures.

She steeled herself from feeling any connection to the vileness of those Tevinters. The ones that had locked away the Avvar Gods, binding them to mortal, yet immortal forms and away from the mind journeys of the shaman should the Avvar have needed their guidance. Lost to the aeons where they could not be reached.

It was known that Imhar had used his cunning and trickery to evade the Tevinters, that Sigfrost had closed in on himself - not wishing His knowledge to be used in warfare and Uvolla had fled to the mortal realm that they lived in - a sprite in the Forests and honouring Her form of the wolves.

Korth, the Lady of the Skies and Hakkon Wintersbreath all bound, captured by the Tevinters. Dyrfinna's mind wandered to the ballad of Maferath and the shaman Andraste An Brona. It was told Andraste tried to pray to Korth and the others of the partheon that had been imprisoned, beseeching them to come back.

And with the knowledge the painted lowlander had passed to her she had spoken to this 'Maker' and started this false religion that followed her.

But Imhar still spoke to the Avvar, still encouraged the laughter and cleverness, Sigfrost had returned again to spread His knowledge of the old magics and the knowledge lost to the Avvar. Uvolla was silent, Her love and empathy even lost to the devoted of the Avvar.

"Idle minds think too much." Mahariel sighed softly. Everyone seemed to be taken aback by her words, indeed - even Oghren grunted in surprise. "Oh come, I walk the Fade like a natural denizen of it. Your thoughts - all of the Wardens - are jumbled and very intelligent but we have a sloth demon to face in his realm. He will be strong here."

Mahariel stopped in front of a weathered door frame and her hands lit up in iridescent green like emerald stone. "Sloth is here - once we step through this door we should be in our true forms, with the weaponry you carried when you were entrapped."

* * *

Dyrfinna felt as if she'd fallen down a mountain for the way her stomach flipped. The comforting weight of her double thick chainmail and the plate that sat atop it was back on her body, her sword and dagger both sheathed at her hips and her shield upon the hooks on her back. "Creators, these truly are powerful Wardens." Mahariel breathed, unchanged from going through the portal.

Dyrfinna looked about, she, Alistair, Oghren and Loghain all wore their heavy Warden chain, plate and tabards almost as a constant these days with the roving bands of darkspawn about the hillocks of Ferelden. And now standing each in their armour they looked like resplendent symbols of the strength and tempered nature the Wardens attained from drinking darkspawn blood.

Even Asgrim in his leather battle-armour especially made for him by the dwarven smiths, studded with rivets.

They truly looked like warriors, even with the shaman in their individual robes they looked ready. "Let us kill this demon then before we waste away in the real world."

"I couldn't have said it better Commander." Mahariel raised her hand and pointed a long elegant finger to what would have been two bells on a dwarven clock. "He is over there... sleeping and unaware of our approach."

"Thank you, I shall admit I did not expect any help from a Tevinter." Dyrfinna bowed her head in respect to the noble elf. "If only those that came before you were as cordial."

A few raised eyebrows were pointed toward her. "You knew... I'll admit I didn't expect anything except hostility when I saw your tattoo banding." Mahariel admitted.

"Your robes gave you away child of Shartan." Dyrfinna gave Gilraen a wry smile.

"Wait - the Tevinters know about the Avvar?" Alistair furrowed his brow, looking backwards and forth between the two of them as if a war would start soon.

"Knowing our history is the best way to stop it from being repeated." Mahariel shrugged her slim shoulders, the soft white of her robes cascading on her slim curves. "But this is a conversation for another time. I'm afraid there is a fellow clansmate that needs my help even as we speak. Good luck Wardens." She nodded and turned to Elrohir. "Come and find me in Tevinter ma sa'lath. Your sister is welcome too."

"Well I'm glad I'm not chopped livers over here." Silmarwen snarked. "I'm sticking with the Wardens though, don't want to be a third wheel to your cart."

"Oh it's so good to have seen you again da'lethallan!" Mahariel rushed forward and hugged the brown haired elf who eeped and struggled.

"Go, save the someone from whatever you need to save them from." Silmarwen groaned.

And with that Mahariel put a hand to her tanned forehead and dissipated into a fine mist that was blown away in the shifting winds. "Goodbye ma vhenan." Elrohir rumbled.

"Oh shit!" Silmarwen shouted. "Sloth knows we're here!"

Dyrfinna pulled her sword and shield to her hands with practised ease and followed the direction Mahariel had pointed them to.

The sights of the sloth demon - a classic dark theurge, a hunched creature that stood nine feet in height, black smoke surrounded around the ragged black cloth it draped over it's bent form, glowing red eyes peeking from a cowled face. "You couldn't just be happy could you?" It sounded exasperated and at the same time bored, the air filling with the hazy feeling of sleepiness.

"You! You trapped us here!" Silmarwen cried. "Fucking demons!"

"Child, just return to your dream, I can make you all happy." It dragged itself before the elf, placing a clawed hand under her chin and raising her face to look him dead in the eyes.

"Don't fucking well touch me!" Silmarwen put a hand on the taloned fingers and lightning fizzed in the air as she invigorated the theurge with it.

The Warden group sprang to action, swords deflecting the grasping skeletal hands that sprang forth from the ground, the shaman and the theurge all in a deadly dance of magic, ice slamming into a wall of fire, stone flying alongside wisps of pure energy that Elrohir batted about like nothing.

Suddenly Elrohir shouted and lifted his hands, the theurge lifted into the air. The energies were compressing it, making the theurge smaller. Silmarwen arched lightning into it's smoky form as ice burst from Wynne's staff and Morrigan's arms were bathed in orange light. "Take a piece of your own medicine pathetic fool!" Morrigan's snide laughter filled the air as the warriors and mabari hacked the bony hands away from the magical battle.

The floor rocked and the group seemed to falter, the hazy horizon quickly coming closer.

* * *

"Argh, my fucking head!" It was Silmarwen's voice that was the first thing Dyrfinna heard as she pried herself off the sticky, bloody floor.

"Sodding Ancestors tits, that were weird." Oghren groaned. There was a collective clanging and shink of metal as the warriors and shaman stood up, shaking and aching.

Wynne lit up the air with a pale blue aura, the healing magic seeping into pores and relieving aching muscles and torn tendons, mending blistered skin. Sighs of pleasure from the assuaging magic sounded and Dyrfinna looked about their group. Trails of tears made their way down Elrohir's pale skin where blood had stuck to it and he knelt over a body, taking a scroll from his grasp.

"I'm glad you're at peace my friend." The elf whispered, his ears drooped downwards, closing the eyes of the man.

"What's that Elrohir?" Wynne clicked as she crouched next to the elf, taking the scroll gently from his grasp. Elrohir looked up at the elder shaman as if the depths of his unnaturally green eyes could bore through her.

"The Litany of Andralla." He almost spat the words out. "I can read the Tevene so give it back."

"Of course." Wynne pursed her lips, putting her hand on his shoulder as she stood back up, handing the scroll back to him.

"What will that do?" Dyrfinna asked, tempering her voice even. She'd met one cordial Tevinter in Gilraen Mahariel, that didn't mean she could like any others.

"Blood magic, it dispels the hold of blood magic from enthralling people." Elrohir sighed. "Can we speak commander, when this is over?"

"Yes shaman." Dyrfinna nodded. "We have a Hold to save though, forward Wardens, forever forward."

"Bloody taskmaster." Oghren chuckled.

* * *

Zevran was stabbing the table, yanking the dagger out and leaving a new splintered cut in the wood. Bethany glared at the elf, his golden eyes were lidded, staring languidly at the group.

"That can't have been speaking that long." Carver groused.

"I am worried..." Bethany trailed off, looking over to Thorvald writing in his book, Leliana tuning up her lute. She'd had enough.

"That's it! Let's go to that blasted tower and see what's holding them up!" Bethany stood, her chair scraping loudly on the floorboards of the Spoiled Princess tavern.

"They said to wait. And you don't want to go into the tower." Carver shot her a cold glare.

"Then you stay behind and look after the animals. I have a templar to go and scare into taking me across that lake." Bethany glared back at her twin. "Anyone else coming?"

"I do not wish you to be in trouble." Thorvald stood. "So I will be coming with you... yes."

"Friends don't leave friends behind." Leliana put her lute down on the table. "Would our assassin like to join us?"

"Oh why not?" Zevran brightened considerably, his ears lifting and his golden eyes lit with excitement. He smiled lopsidedly and yanked the dagger out of the table, coolly flipping it in his long fingers and sheathing it at his hip.

"Well I'm not staying here a moment longer." Carver stood up with a clank of his armour and picked up his greatsword from beside him, sheathing it on his back. "The animals will just have to be good in the stables... I'm sure Mr Rabbit is sleeping anyway."

* * *

Bethany looked up at the tower from the docks, Maker's breath it really looked bigger the closer you got. "So templar, we're going across right?" Carver pointedly asked the man, more a demand than a question really. The winds whipped her hair over her face and she pushed them back. _They weren't taking her here, she's a Grey Warden. _

"Look, I'm not gonna be in Greagoir's good books for letting the first lot of you across so no." The templar crossed his arms.

Bethany stepped forward. "I'm sure we can make it worth you while Ser templar." She batted her eyelashes and the man whetted his lips. She heard a vague intaking of breath from her brother and a chuckle from that assassin. The templar's eyes however drifted to Leliana.

"Your pretty friend here..." He trailed off, his eyes wandering over Leliana's blue Warden leathers.

"I could tell you a story, how about on our way across the lake. I'm sure you'd like that would you not kind Ser?" Leliana smiled. Bethany truly felt a lot happier as the bard started moving to the boat, no resistance from the templar. "Join us my friends." Leliana gestured and the rest of them shakily got into the boat, none more shakily than her brother due to his heavy plating. Being encased in metal and water didn't mix too well.

The templar rowed earnestly through the ice floes and debris around the docks to the open, choppier waters of the lake, listening as Leliana told the tale of the chevalier Aveline and her death. Wasn't it a good thing Loghain wasn't here?

They hauled up at the jetty on the other side, water creating light ripples on the limestone archway where algae coloured up to waist height, the stone steps worn from battering waters and what plantlife that had latched into the porous rock. Bethany took a deep breath, holding onto the archway as she pushed the door open. The feeling of being inside the tower was almost stifling, the feeing of bodies and magic so intertwined with the building.

Bethany could feel the heartbeats - a side effect of being a Spirit Healer - the ages of souls that lived in this place. It almost took her breath away. It wasn't a place to fear but it was so old, so much history was in this tower. Now she could see why Dyr was so upset about it all too. While unable to read the old Ferelden herself to know the exact history it almost felt unfair that the mages were housed here when it was not intended for such purposes.

The door closed and she looked behind her to see Thorvald, Leliana, Carver and Zevran looking toward her to lead them, as if she knew what to do. Is was her who suggested this though. Bethany took a deep breath and took point along the corridor, pushing open the heavy oaken door to see where these heartbeats were - templars as far as they eye could see, the tang of blood and sweat that filled the air with fear.

"He let more of you in?" A grey haired man picked up his spectacles from his chest on the chain he wore, popping them on his nose and peering at their group. His templar armour was much more ornate than the others. "More Grey Wardens. I'm really going to have to have words with Carroll."

"Where are our brothers and sisters?" Bethany asked, getting straight to the point, the feeling of all the pain and heartbeats around her rubbing her the wrong way up her spine.

The templar sighed and took his spectacles back off his face, gesturing for them to walk with him. Bethany hesitantly followed, the warm presences that called to her blood not far behind as they walked. "The tower is full of blood mages and abominations. I've called for the Right of Annulment to have every soul past these doors put down. Your commander knew about the anti-blood magic defences built into this very tower which had been broken recently by an apprentice. She went in with every Warden she had with her to fix them and quite foolishly try to save what mages she could." He sighed heavily. "I fear I have sent your commander to her death."

Bethany paled at the thought of blood magic, the one magic her father swore that if she tried to do that even he could never forgive her for. The magic that if she took it up, he made Miriam and Carver swear they would cut her down for. Malcolm Hawke was a kind man but there were definite limits and you never crossed them. "The sigil stones?" Thorvald asked.

The grey haired templar looked shocked. "Another one who knows?" He asked incredulously, the Avvar archer shrugged, idly scratching at his black stubble.

"Common knowledge for those who have built a house before that had children with magic." Bethany remembered that Thorvald had had two sons with magic, it made sense. "Even the nomadic Avvar need to protect from the magic of the Tevinters."

"They couldn't still be alive could they? It is a big tower..." Bethany had to think about this logically, they needed the mages against the Blight and they could fix these stones couldn't they - if Dyr could then Thorvald could. And if the Wardens were still alive but just heavily injured it'd be a good idea to save their lives. Yes... "Let us into the tower, we're fixing these stones and hoping to save our brothers and sisters."

The templar looked taken aback but drew a key off of his belt. "Maker guide you then Wardens... I really hope I didn't send most of your order to their deaths."

They filed past him once the door was opened and it slammed shut with a sonorous bang after them. "You know, I feel so good about this because if blood mages and abominations can take down Oghren, Loghain and Dyr we're not gonna stand a chance." Carver grumbled. "Oh and Alistair, he has templar training I suppose."

"Don't forget your beautiful witch, if one could take down that feisty madam it really should have been me." Zevran laughed.

Suddenly an elf with mouse brown hair crashed out of one of the rooms they were passing, staff poised. "You aren't killing us yet you..." The elf trailed off. "Well thank the Maker for that, just more of those Wardens."

"I know you." Carver pushed off ahead toward the elf. "Where do I know you from?"

The elf furrowed his brow when his eyes widened and his ears perked up. "Carver? Really?"

"Eadric!" Carver rushed forward and hugged the elf. "Oh bloody Void I never thought I'd see your stupid face again!"

"Who?" Bethany questioned, her blood still pumping from nearly having the mage attack them.

"Oh - this must be that sister of yours..." Eadric pulled out of the hug. "You really look like Miri you know, except the eyes."

"Do you remember father had an elven friend... popped over once a week and they took her son out to the barn?" Bethany nodded, trying to remember back that far. "Well... father tried to train Eadric to control his powers. Then we found out you - well... and the templars found out about Eadric so we had to move from Highever really quickly." Carver kept on looking between the pair of them. "I still never thought I'd see you again."

"Yes well, these things happen." Eadric shrugged. "Are you going after the others? They left a few hours ago with Wynne and Silmarwen."

"Did one of the women have a band over her face in red?" Thorvald asked.

"I can't remember." He scratched his chin.

"Did one of them wear barely any clothes?" Carver grimaced.

"Oh... yeah." The elf went radish red to the tips of his ears.

"Eadric!" The elf froze solid although it wasn't a spell that had done it as a woman with silky red hair strode out of the same room he'd come from, easily taller than him. "You remember the woman with no clothes but you can't remember the commander?"

The elf lost all of that redness on his cheeks, going considerably pale and staring at her with wide eyes. "I love you?" He tried.

The woman melted and pulled him back into the room. "Don't get in the way of the Wardens good Ser." She purred.

"Can I follow them?" Zevran grinned.

"No..." Bethany sighed. "Come on, we know they lived past this point then."

What a weird way to enter a tower full of blood mages and abominations. Especially one that didn't seem to be full of danger from what they'd encountered so far.

* * *

Wynne watched as Silmarwen bit down on the hilt of the dagger, conjuring a healing aura to block the poor dear's pain receptors. By the Maker she looked to be in agony since the abomination broke her arm.

Loghain held the poor girl down and Dyrfinna was having to manipulate the bones into the correct places. Wynne had tasked Elrohir to get a swatch of linen off one of the beds so they could put her arm in a sling and Enchanter Karl was hovering about like it was all his fault.

"Uurgh!" The elf cried out, tears slipping her eyelids and she turned her head to spit the dagger across the stone floor.

The dragonlings really did a number when they bit. "I'm so sorry my dear! I was trying..." Karl trailed off, looking glumly at the floor.

"Fucking damn, you couldn't smash my arm could you?" Th elf grit her teeth, fires blazing in her green eyes and sweat beading on her forehead.

"Hold still, only a little more." The Commander soothed, a calm patience with having done this before in her tone.

The elf screamed, her voice echoing on the walls and there was a thud and clang of feet and metal as the doors crashed open. "I have the linen!" Her brother declared, holding up a long strip of ripped white fabric.

"I helped!" Alistair smirked good-naturedly.

"Oh you sure did. 'Maker's breath hurry up.' Was the biggest help." Elrohir quipped back.

"Boys - unless one of you can heal shut the fuck up!" Silmarwen groaned.

"Done. Wynne, if you could heal the break then we can bind and sling the limb." The Commander stood, brushing her fringe back and slumping slightly.

Wynne rushed forward and probed into the broken bone. It was a clean break so quite lucky in that respect but would need time as well as magic to heal quickly - one of which they lacked. "I would say you've done that before." Wynne spoke as she healed, trying to keep morale up for the moment. "Linen please."

Elrohir passed her the linen strip and set started to bandage. "The deep roads are perilous, of course." The Commander shrugged with a shink of chainmail. Wynne glanced briefly up at the towering Warden, broad shouldered and rather stoic in her own way. A warrior that was certain and she was well aware of it.

And Loghain Mac Tir was her Warden-Constable; below her! Wynne hmm'ed in thought - you had to be fairly powerful to have the teyrn as a follower rather than leader. "Thinking are you?" Silmarwen grit her teeth the whole time - there was only so much pain and ache magic could remove, especially in dangerous breaks in bone.

"Just an idle mind." Wynne assured the young elf.

Suddenly the Wardens in the room seemed to look toward the doorway when a clattering sounded. "What are you doing here?" Alistair rushed to a woman in the group, holding her close in a hug. "Maker's breath are you all right?"

"I'm fine Alistair." The woman sighed. "But your chestplate is crushing me." Wynne noticed one of the warriors was scowling at the pair of them, black hair and piercing blue eyes. Alistair let go of the woman. "We got worried, you were gone for so long!"

"How long?" Loghain asked.

"A few hours Constable." The young man with black hair and scowl answered him. "Possibly five?"

"Five. Korth's throne." The Commander groaned. "We have one last room after this and the chamber above which will hold the last sigil stone."

"I have instructed Bethany in fixing the stone Commander." A tattooed archer nodded.

"Good. For everyone present, Wardens Thorvald, Leliana, Bethany, Carver and Warden-Recruit Zevran." She gestured to the tattooed archer, a red-headed archer, the woman Alistair had hugged, the scowling man and then a tanned elf. "These people with us are the elves Silmarwen and Elrohir Surana - twins and recruits, the healer Wynne as well as Enchanter Karl."

* * *

Silmarwen felt useless with her arm bound and strapped up her chest against her green robes with the sling. It was a good thing you only needed one hand to hold a staff but still - the ache in the limb that shot up to her shoulder, through her elbow and down her wrist to leave her hand oddly cold was horrible.

The Commander - Dyrfinna although she had permission to call the tattooed woman 'Dyr' was up in point when the door opened.

The intense purple light made her blink hard as the entered the room with weaponry drawn and the figure in the middle of the light made her suck in a deep breath of the hot air. Cullen, strawberry-blond curls slick with sweat to his head, his armour bloodied and his skin ashen with tired circles about his eyes.

"Get away demon! You will not take her image!" Cullen shouted, cowering back in his circle of purple light.

"Elrohir - can you dispel this?" Silmarwen shot a glance over at her twin, the one who excelled in spirit magic. A portion of his bound white hair escaped the tie as he shook his head.

"This is powerful, much too powerful for me." He sighed. "Ser Cullen, do you see me? Are you thirsty? Hungry?"

"Get away! Demons! Always taking her image! Just because of my infatuation with a thrice-damned mage!" He shouted again and moved his hands into a smite, the white aura of power that attached to the move that cleansed magic fading against the purple barrier.

"The poor dear, is it possible for him to be given water? He must be delirious." Warden Leliana chimed. Silmarwen looked over to the archer - she hadn't thought her Orlesian with a personage as Loghain Mac Tir in present company. Then again she'd studied relentlessly about and for to get into the Grey Wardens. It was something she desperately wanted to be.

"It... it always worked before... it really is you..." He edged over in the purple barrier toward her, pain etched on his features. "This is your fault! Your sinful kind!"

"Enough!" The Commander stepped in front of her. "You will not speak to a Warden-recruit in such a fashion. Fool man this is the fault of your kind for forcing these mages into bondage!"

Cullen seemed to be taken aback by that, glaring hatefully at the commander. "The blood mages are up there!" He gestured up toward the Harrowing Chamber. "You can't leave any of these mages alive, all of them are cursed - doomed to turn on you like vipers."

Dyrfinna levelled with the templar, Silmarwen had once adored his hesitant glances in her direction, blushed at the thought of his lips on hers, not no longer. He was just another templar. "If you think your bigotry would sway me from harming a single innocent that could be held hostage up there you have another thing coming templar. Every person has a mind of their own whether they have magic or not, people are inherently corrupt whether mage, templar, elf, human, dwarf, Orlesian, Ferelden or Tevinter. But the same people can also have honour and goodness. I can see that plain as the light of day so you either realise this too or you will die by my blade when you are free from this imprisonment you are under." Her voice was so low and chilling it almost scared Silmarwen and there wasn't another word said from Cullen or anyone else as she turned away and went to go up the stairs.

"Are you following or will I deal with this alone?" She growled and everyone started to follow her. It was that moment that Silmarwen realised how strong Commander Dyrfinna was.

There was a burning need in her to see everyone as free as she thought they should - equals. Silmarwen knew the hatred of being a mage, the looks even other mages give each other about the curse of magic. She knew how being an elf made her seen as substandard, a lesser person as if being a mage wasn't enough. But this woman, this human with the strange tattoo across her face and a voice that demanded to be listened to - deceptively low and soft when truly angry as she had been with Cullen and the open anger she could inflict in movements.

That made Silmarwen follow and believe this could be done. That the Warden-Commander wasn't to be crossed but followed earnestly.

The elf with the brown hair and bright green eyes did just that and the sight she was assaulted with in the Harrowing Chamber was horrid.

Two abominations held a friend - Second Enchanter Jauffre Amell, two more holding First Enchanter Henry Irving. In a line of breathing but bloodied people Senior Enchanters Sweeney, Leorah, Torrin, Linet, Ruvena and Xavier... abominations behind them holding them arched in crackling prisons.

And the orchestrator of these lunacy - Senior Enchanter Uldred, strutting up and down the group as if he owned the place. The Commander looked pale, the blood and the blood magic pulsing in the air was palatable even to mundanes then.

Uldred moved to Senior Enchanter Linet, raising the blonde woman up in the air with a crushing prison. "You will take the gift I give, won't you wench?" Uldred held a dagger in his hand not controlling the crushing prison and grabbed her hand, cutting the palm softly, blood pooling as she tried futilely to clench it away from him. "You hear them don't you. They call to you instinctively. Take the offer. What is your life against freedom for all of the mages?"

Linet seemed to scream and her body started bulging, her ropes ripping to have her flesh turning red then dark purple and grey, her face twisting and melting. She'd been weak. Uldred dropped her when the transformation was complete and she stood tall - and abomination.

"See Irving, it's quite inevitable. You either join me or you join me." Uldred stepped carefully toward the bound First Enchanter.

"Uldred!" It was Loghain who called the attention of the Senior Enchanter in brown Entrophist robes. "You scuppered at Ostagar and now this?"

"Oh, the general that didn't succumb to my agent. Pity." Uldred shrugged. "It would have been so much easier for him to have properly done it, then as an act of mercy we could have fixed the problem, restoring the greatest hero Ferelden has!"

The information was too much for the teyrn turned Grey Warden. "You were the one who sent that damned blood mage to Ostagar!"

"The sigil is up there!" The Commander pointed up to a bear's head statue that looked down into the domed chamber. "Sigfrost's pelt... a Sigfrost statue! Morrigan... figure out which magic broke it. We shall deal with this!"

The witch in barely any clothes suddenly took off in a run and transformed with a flash of light into a coal black raven, flying upwards.

Uldred's dagger flashed in his palm. "Fools!" And he cut his palm, chuckling as the red mists surrounded him.

The warriors weren't fast enough as Udred transformed quickly, his robes ripping and a wind pushing hair flying back... a fucking Pride Demon where the Senior Enchanter once stood!

Silmarwen readied her good arm with staff in hand, lightning infusing through her body and feeling the dust in the air, ready to form it together for clumps of rock to hit this damned man. "Pride Demon! Attack his weak spots and if you make him bleed for the love of the Maker get a mage to cauterise the wound!" Warden Carver shouted. Silmarwen glanced over to the warrior holding the greatsword and rushing toward Uldred alongside the dwarf, Commander and Constable, in awe of his knowledge of magic for a brief moment before the situation needed her attention properly.

The four warriors kept Uldred busy, taking heavy blows when the mages and archers went to town on the abominations. Arrows were flying through the air at incredible accuracy through the heads of abominations from the two Wardens with bows, the mages all with their staves glowing and magic pounding through the air.

The sound was incredible as Warden Bethany set fire to the wounds sustained by Uldred, screaming and hurling her arms about.

Elrohir yelled the words of the Litany through the din, the abominations faltering. Karl drove a spike of ice through the floor to skewer one to the spot, the armoured dog pouncing and ripping the neck out of the same abomination.

The elf with the sword and dagger whom she couldn't remember the name of stuck his dagger through the neck of an abomination and his sword through the chest, almost dancing through the blood and gore parleyed about.

Suddenly, her head was scraped by talons and a squalling raven flew up to the bear's head on the ceiling. So Morrigan couldn't fix this one. Silmarwen shot an arc of lightning at it, hoping that it was the magic needed to fix it. The hum of it being right didn't sound in her bones though so obviously not.

The raven seemed to shake it's head and swooped down on her brother.

Each mage was hit and each mage seemed to be unsuccessful with the magic they specialised in as abominations fell, flames from their dying throes bursting and still Uldred caused chaos, throwing the warriors around with his gargantuan forearms covered in bony blackened spikes.

"Your magic Morrigan! Sigfrost is patron of the knowledge of shape-shifting magic!" She heard the commander yell, picking herself up with her sword and shield poised, a very slight limp for being thrown about across the floor.

The raven flew past her and there was a flash and burst of magic that waved through Silmarwen. "I need your magic elf. I need you to hold my hand and think on rearranging the stone of the statue up there. Now." The witch grabbed her hand with a grimace on her face and Silmarwen looked up at the distant bear head, focusing on the stone in the statue, thinking of transforming it into an eagle - like the carving in the storerooms.

The bear's head glowed white and the humming filled the room, light filling everything.

It was too much, the feeling of magic being poured into the room. Silmarwen blanked and there was a horrid, blood-curdling scream as the Uldred Pride demon looked like it was being crushed back into the bald, naked form of the Senior Enchanter.

Loghain ran across the room and beheaded the man as he was collapsing. It was over.

What abominations left burst into flames. Warden Bethany and Wynne handed lyrium out as they went healing. It was just... over.

* * *

Dyrfinna walked about, helping the shaman alive in their standing until she came upon the bearded First Enchanter Henry Irving. "Maker... it's over. It's finally over. What was that... light? The humming - it's still here?" His voice was croaky like he had breathed in a forge all his life.

"I was told you are the First Enchanter." She took a deep breath. "We restored the ancient Avvar technology of the sigil stones in this tower. When they all work they create a field about this place, a hum that mages can hear that distracts demons from their hold in the mortal world. These sigils are particularly strong and caused blood magic and magic relating to the blood like abominations to be impossible." She gestured up to the newly formed eagle atop the ceiling. "The whole tower is safe from future blood magic as long as they are still working."

He looked so tired and pleased at the news. "Who do I have to thank for this then?"

"The Grey Wardens. We have a treaty for your aide against the Blight that threatens Ferelden that drove us to come here at this time. I am Commander Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar - an Avvar as the makers of Kinloch Hold."

She glanced behind her to see Morrigan using the warding spell to fully fix the sigil. Good. The pain in her calves was great, like fire from running and straining as well as the ache in her ribs to shoulders from crashing into a pillar. "I see." He hmm'ed.

"Knight-Commander Greagoir wished to use the Right of Annulment if you had died First Enchanter. I think we should make haste to the foyer to stop that foolish decision."

"You're an Amell!" Dyrfinna turned around to see the Second Enchanter being hugged by Bethany. "Oh Maker! You're my cousin!"

The man with incredibly long hair that it trailed onto his behind over his blue robes eeped. "There are lots of mage Amells!"

"Yeah, our family's lousy with them." Carver chuckled. "Bethany's just shocked to meet one. Never thought she would with being a mage herself and then a Grey Warden."

"I always felt like I had to hide." Bethany gushed.

"My brother's a Grey Warden you know." The man pulled out of the hug, struggling to breathe. "We wrote letters often, I haven' had one since... at least six months actually. You wouldn't happen to know a mage called Lucien would you?"

"Lucien was a bloody Amell too?" Carver's jaw dropped.

The only sound other than rustling linen robes, the clank of armour as everyone moved and general moaning was Oghren laughing.


	24. Glowing Wardens

Author note: This has been fun doing the AU mages treaty! So much so that this chapter will be in snippets of thought processes because I love them. Then just hold your horses for Denerim!

This chapter is a definite M for mature adult situations. All Magda's fault as I reeeeeeeeeeeally couldn't restrain her a moment longer - however she was sitting in the corner going 'do this - I really want this in there!' and my reply was - 'You depraved muse' and chuckling with liberal blushing. Naughty muse. Quite steamy and hopefully you'll like it. I enjoyed writing it! It's almost all smut... sorry? No I'm not...

Oh and just a note - the First Blight was pre-Andrastian. It's almost a mistake to assume the Tevinters like Corypheus tried to get into 'The Maker's Golden City' if you think about it. The main religion of the days back then were the Avvarian Gods and the Tevinter ones.

**Big thank you to every single reviewer! We're nearly at 150 now, wow - I'm shocked my thoroughly AU campaign is so popular! Magda started listening to 'Walking on sunshine' she was so happy and it got stuck in my head. Damned happy, naughty muse... she'll be incorrigible if you guys like this chapter. She might even do more Bethany/Alistair relationship fluffiness.**

* * *

Dyrfinna sat at the edge of camp, sharpening her ancestral sword in choppy, aggravated movements with the whetstone, occasionally holding the longsword up to catch the light from the campfire before returning to task.

Too many things had happened recently and she needed to think about all of them.

_It was quite wonderful for Bethany and Carver to have found long lost family. And to hear there were more of their mother's family out there, with addresses should they wish to send letters to them. Second Enchanter Jauffre Amell was rather privileged in being able to send and receive letters from outside the circle though. They had a cousin, his sister, called Revka Amell, named after his own mother who apparently lived in the Free Marches. Another brother of his however had been killed for being a user of blood magic while living in the circle of Montsimmard, in Orlais. He didn't know if there were more Amells out there - his mother and father were prolific in having children, the sons all seemed to have magic but he was taken when his mother was pregnant._

Dyrfinna thought back on the time they had spent with Lucien - another cousin of Bethany and Carver. Jauffre understood his brother lived a hard life as a Warden, but was still quite upset by the news. She lifted her sword and scowled at an imperfection, a scratch and held the sword back down across her lap, whetstone moved swiftly against it.

_Then there were the twin children of Shartan she had needed to use the Right of Conscription on in order to have them join the ever-growing Warden group. She didn't wish to kill either in the Joining but Silmarwen 'you can call me Mari' had insisted that despite any danger she wished to join properly. Dyrfinna almost thought on telling her about broodmothers but that would scare the poor girl. Elrohir wished to travel to Tevinter to be with the shaman love of his that lived there. Who was she to deny such a request if that was what he truly wished? Perhaps having two allies in the country would be a good thing she she ever have to go there. Being a Warden - as Alistair mentioned meant they could be transferred to any country at the will of 'The First Warden'. Elrohir would stay with the Warden group until he could rescue a friend of his from a prison he had found the location of from bribing a templar. It should be on the route to Denerim._

It had been a long day, her muscles ached. She lifted the sword again, pleased with the sharpness and picking up a rag that was saturated with vinegar and took it to the sword, moving in soft circles to keep it from tarnishing.

_Then Alistair had revealed he was the half-brother of King Cailan, the golden-clad man from Ostagar - sharing a the previous King - Maric with him. This did not make him the next in line for the throne due to being a Grey Warden and unable to have children. Dyrfinna thought back to her time in Ostagar - she had thought so many lowlanders looked similar so hadn't thought much on the resemblance at the time. He had been secreted away in the lowlander 'Arling' of Redcliffe by Loghain to be looked after by the uncle of King Cailan. Arl Eamon had sent him away when he was ten winters of age because his painted lowlander wife did not like him - to be a templar and addicted to the lyrium which the mages used to restore their magical energies. Apparently the Chantry used it to keep a close rein on their templars._

That had boiled her blood. Lyrium, she had found out was quite the addictive substance and deadly poisonous in large quantities to those not with magical talent. It was as if this man he'd been put in the care of wished him to die. Dyrfinna held the pommel of her sword up to her face, looking down the blade for the mirror-shine to glint in the flickering light of the campfire and moonlight.

_But the most annoyingly infuriating thing of the day, a man she wished she could have gutted was Knight-Commander Greagoir. He thought the 'duty' of watching over the shaman of Kinloch Hold was more important than the Blight. Damn that the darkspawn could overwhelm Ferelden and that he would have no shaman to hold in bondage if this happened. She levelled him with a glare that could etch glass and told him to 'piss up a rope' to steal one of Loghain's remarks, storming out of his office. It was good that First Enchanter Henry Irving had already agreed to support the Grey Wardens but the warriors that were the templars would have been a bonus. _

And this was why she seethed, Dyrfinna felt like she could snap from the barest annoyance at the moment. Morrigan was off in her edge of the encampment, reading the book she had stolen, her finger running across the pages, her brow furrowed and her lips moving with her reading.

Alistair and Bethany were talking quietly on their own, Thorvald was writing in his book, Silmarwen, Elrohir, Zevran and Carver were busied with the tents and latrine digging. Silmarwen one-handedly hammering a tent peg into the ground - determined that she wasn't 'useless'.

Leliana was sitting on her own, strumming on her lute. Oghren was sitting by the campfire, swaying with his drink.

And Loghain had been sitting like she... taking his emotions out on tending to his weapons.

_The shaman Wynne had wanted to join them too, but it didn't feel right conscripting the elder woman and the Knight-Commander wasn't too keen to give away his shaman after she'd conscripted the two elves. Dyrfinna remembered the healing the elder shaman had done for her in Ostagar and how fierce her ice and fire were. So Wynne was left behind in the tower. It might have been nice to have another healer with them but Wynne would be part of the shaman forces regardless, just not with the Grey Warden group._

Dyrfinna had enough and sheathed her sword, more than satisfied with the sharpness and cleanliness of the weapon. She went to her tent and placed the sword inside with her shield, just her dagger on her belt over her tunic and thin leather britches with her old careworn leather boots for pottering about the encampment.

She went to sit next to Loghain by his placement at the edge of the camp and rested her head on his shoulder without preamble - the taint in her blood announcing her presence, she didn't need to speak for the moment. "My shoulder comfortable now, Commander?" Loghain asked her, slipping his sword into his scabbard and putting his whetstone down, his arm around her.

"Very, Constable." Dyrfinna felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth, she found it highly amusing to be called commander by Loghain and she knew he found it somewhat humorous to be called constable.

"You've picked the worst person if you need to speak about today." He sighed, his grip tightening around her shoulders and she hmm'ed to him. "I can do silence though."

"I would like that." Dyrfinna closed her eyes, so many people had died in Kinloch Hold they couldn't save. She knew she couldn't save everyone - it just wasn't a feasible goal but it didn't make it hurt less that if they'd just travelled quicker perhaps a lot of bloodshed could have been avoided. It could have meant more of the shaman that the ones they had saved in the fight for them.

They remained in their cocoon of silence, the chilled night breezes surrounding them and the distant chirp of crickets alongside a lone owl puncturing it every so often, the gentle tunes of Leliana's lute like a white noise.

"Copper for _your_ thoughts?" Dyrfinna finally broke the spell of it, shifting so her dagger wasn't poking her thigh so hard.

"And what good would my thoughts be milady?" Loghain rumbled, the feeling of his coarse, low voice thrumming through her through his chest.

She snorted at his use of 'milady', rubbing her head into his shoulder to nip at his throat as warning. He knew she thought his calling her _that_ was strange. Dyrfinna much preferred commander to milady.

"Fine. You want to know?" He slipped out of the sideways embrace, sitting cross-legged opposite her, holding her hands, his own shaking ever so slightly. "I failed my oldest friend - I failed Maric."

"How?" Dyrfinna breathed and Loghain closed his eyes.

"You know I put the lad with Eamon. I should have just taken him in myself." Loghain clenched his jaw. "I couldn't save Cailan at Ostagar - the vainglorious fool."

"And what would you do? Turn back time?" She said softly, lifting one hand from his grasp to rub along his lightly stubble on his jawline. He rested his head into her palm, a soft breath snorted through his nose. She moved forward, resting her forehead on his. "Life is not to spent pondering what if and what should have been done. We live in the moment and hope our actions now are for the best."

His lips crashed into hers, forcing her head back and she pushed forward with equal force, their tongues battling for dominance before they became gentle, nipping at each other, her hands curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, his pulling her closer by the small of her back until she was straddled over his crossed legs.

Loghain groaned, a hand slipping up her back under her tunic, warm skin over her aching muscles and bruises she was sure were there. Dyrfinna parted with a wet pucker from his lips, arching her back into his hands and baring her throat for his lips to descend on them, laving at her pulse point.

Suddenly he growled into her throat. "No breastband?" He whispered into her skin.

"Do I look like I need one?" She chuckled lightly back, smirking. She'd never needed one - even when breastfeeding she'd never grown to the extent of needing such extra coverings. Loghain looked downwards and his cheeks pinked ever so slightly.

He didn't answer, instead going back to his attentions at her neck. His hands were callused, rough from work and touched so reverently at her skin.

"Maker's breath!" The voice drew them out of their little world. "Oh get a tent!"

Dyrfinna shot a cold glance at a blushing Alistair and Bethany giggling in his arms. "Do you think that's an order? Should we pull rank?" She whispered to Loghain.

Loghain raised an eyebrow and put an arm around her waist, standing and lifting her over his shoulder. "No interruptions." He rumbled at the giggling pair.

"Put me down! What are you - a barbarian taking and claiming his woman!" Dyrfinna groused, very uncomfortable for having her stomach on his shoulder, wriggling, her tunic bunching to bare her midriff to the chilled breezes.

"Ha! Very likely!" Loghain was holding her damned tight and she could feel eyes watching their dramatics - Oghren was laughing quite raucously.

"Off with those pants!" Oghren shouted as they or rather - he went into his tent, with her still slung over his shoulder.

He put her gently down onto his bedroll, his cheeks flushed either in embarrassment or from the exertion, Dyrfinna knew she was not light for the muscle needed to wield weaponry as she did. "You heard the dwarf, off with those pants." She smirked, crossing her arms to lift her tunic off, her boots kicked off at the same time.

* * *

Loghain couldn't quite remember how the thrice-damned Avvar woman who stole scraps out his pockets for her hound became Finna, with her tunic off, small perky and raspberry pink exposed. The groan that escaped his throat was more of a growl and her eyebrow arched upwards as if daring him.

He rushed forward, a man dying of thirst tempted with fresh water, taking each pink bud between thumb and forefinger, his lips on hers and pushing her into his bedroll. Her hands were under his tunic, pushing it upwards to make them equals until he had to part, pulling it off himself.

Honeyed eyes trailed over him and a smile played with those slightly swelled lips. He glanced down, gently trailing his fingers over her warm skin that was coming up in a light bruise. "Do you want some salve on this?" Loghain tapped the offending area of skin on her ribs.

"Are you offering?" Finna smiled up at him. He shuffled back on his knees and reached into his pack, pulling out a vial of runny elfroot salve, pouring a small, cold portion into his palm.

Finna sat up, kneeling onto her ankles. "Any more bruises you'd like tending to milady?" He leaned forward, kissing her collarbone next to her locket as he rubbed his hand over her ribs, she shivered slightly and he could just imagine the scowl she'd have on her face.

"Cold. I think my back..." She sighed, turning slightly to show her back to him. Loghain sucked in a breath at the mottled mark there, reaching for the vial and covering his palm thoroughly before wiping it down her spine.

Both his hands gathered the potent smelling elfroot salve, rubbing light circles into her shoulder blades, his thumbs pushing into her spine, her head lolled back, straw coloured hair brushing into the sticky salve at the top of her shoulders, a sigh escaping her throat. Loghain smiled, working down her back, rubbing the salve into her ribs from behind, gradually getting to the clinch of her waist and setting around her hips.

She followed backwards, her back sticky with the salve against his chest, turning her head to kiss his neck. Loghain glanced down, his hands carrying on their slow massage over her rips under her breasts until he cupped them upwards, their lips having met again, slow and soft - tempering enough force that she turned around, her hands on his shoulders and lips still on his, her nails digging in.

Movements became frenzied for a moment as Loghain fumbled downwards, unknotting the laces of her britches. Finna parted from the embrace and looked down at her undone laces. "In the dark you undid that?" Loghain admitted to himself it was dark, but the glow of the campfire was light enough to see what he needed to. She wriggled the thin leather britches off with her smalls, exposing pale muscular, but shapely legs.

She laid back on the bedroll on her elbows, wearing nothing but the locket around her neck, her pale honeyed eyes hooded and a smirking smile on her lips. Loghain groaned, feeling a very uncomfortable pressure in his own britches and took and ankle in hand, brushing the backs of his nails on her calf. "Scars... like teeth?"

"A bear latched onto my leg, it was a tainted bear." She almost whispered the words.

"And a cut..." He traced the paler line that looked to be between the sets of jawline-scars.

"My own sword, skewered through the bear's head." She closed her eyes. "I am sure Sigfrost has forgiven me now for killing his brethren." Loghain kissed the scar and she groaned lowly as his lips trailed up her leg, meeting a scar he knew, the one from the serrated Carta dagger.

One hand caressed up the back of her thigh as he made his way up the leg, trailing his lips up over her hips and then her ribcage to finally latch his teeth around a nipple. Finna gasped, her chest arched upwards into him. So sensitive, and his...

Loghain held one hand on the clinch of her waist, the other pinching her other nipple, eliciting breaths of air to be sucked in and mewling groans from her lips. Those shapely legs wrapped around his hips, pushing her core into the bulge in his britches. Finna pushed him up, heaving for breaths and smiling widely as she took her time in brushing her fingers through the hair that trailed down his chest, scratching lightly on his abdomen.

He closed his eyes as she tugged at the laces of his britches and there was a soft release of the leather. Finna's fingers were warm, slipping between the undone laces to cup his length through his smalls. Loghain shuddered as she held his shaft, pumping jerkily but insistently.

* * *

Dyrfinna moved with a clicking of her joints, pushing Loghain's britches down and bringing his smallclothes off his cock, she hmm'ed in approval at the thick, hot flesh in her hand, skin soft as eiderdown along the veiny shaft and his foreskin back over the enlarged head.

Unwittingly she licked her lips, his eyes were still closed and she could feel the pulse of his blood through their contact and the thrum of their tainted blood. Very slowly, she licked the slit atop his cock for his hips to jerk forward into her opened mouth. There was something so freeing about taking a man into her mouth, the taste of his salty pre-cum tingling on the tip of her tongue, the musk of his skin as she bobbed him further down her throat.

Loghain's hands held the back of her head, fingers curled at the nape of her neck, she looked up through her fringe over his hairy, sculpted stomach and chest to see his lips parted, his icy eyes almost boring into her. The warmth filled her low in her stomach and she rubbed her thighs together, aching.

He noticed this, one hand leaving her hair to rub a firm line down her spine, he moved his legs from beneath himself, laying down and coaxing her to turn on the spot until he lifted her with those strong arms, splaying her legs to have her sex bared to his face.

Dyrfinna fought the urge to buck as a finger ran the length of her sex, instead taking retribution by sucking her cheeks in and dipping him further into her throat, swirling her tongue on his head.

The other hand caressed the skin of her thighs that lead to the juncture between them and that finger that was still languidly sweeping backward and forward, her hips desperately wishing to buck toward it when it slipped into her core.

She muffled a groan into his cock as the finger was removed as slowly as it had entered her. She could feel his breath ghosting against her now and when his lips were on her she whimpered, bucking helplessly into him.

His hands were on the outsides of her hips, holding her steady above him as his tongue and lips nipped at her sex. Loghain's cock slipped from her mouth and she sucked a breath in through her teeth, growling and clenching her eyes tight when his tongue delved into her cunt. Korth's throne!

Dyrfinna felt herself spasm, tightening down her back and lower stomach when Loghain's lips and tongue left her, his hot breath still against her. She struggled to take deep breaths, calming, taken to the brink and not allowed to surpass it.

She swung her leg over, crawling around to press herself against him, eyes hooded as he met her lips with her own, tasting herself on him. He pushed up and down, pinning her back on the bedroll under his forearms, a feral glint in his icy eyes.

Loghain lifted. He parted her legs, callused fingers rubbing a small circle into her nub. Her hips jerked up to touch meet his rigid cock. He understood her meaning and grasped himself, guiding his head into her before thrusting forward fluidly, hips snapping forward to make her groan, ribcage arched upwards and throat bared to him.

Dyrfinna's eyes closed, feeling nothing but the slap of hot skin against leather warmed by their bodies, the friction between them as he thrust harder and deeper again. She hooked her legs around him, her heels resting into the leather backside of his britches - still on.

She bit her lip, forcing her head down to open her eyes, meeting an icy blue gaze locked onto her small twitches as her pounded into her. Sweat beaded his forehead, the black hair framing his face sticking in tendrils to his face, she wiped them back, her hands settling into the hot, flush scalp behind his ears, her nails dug into his skin.

Loghain thrust harder, speeding slightly, she bit into her lip with more force, trying to not be so loud as her breath came out in pants, mewling as he brushed that wonderful pleasure spot within her.

The heat coiled deep in her and he sped up more, the tendons on his forearms and shoulders stark in the shadowy tent, Dyrfinna groaned as he hit hard into that pleasurable spot, moving wetly within her, his movement becoming jerkier, less care taken as he needed to move, his breath huffed from his nose getting heavier until his lips parted.

It was more a triumphant roar mixed with a moan that escaped him, his thrusts so hard, hammering deep in her, warmth filling inside her cunt as he came.

Loghain panted calming forward, his thrusting stilled as he remained within her, his attentions onto her throat, lips cold against the heat of her skin there. She shivered deliciously and he looked down at her, still connected inside her.

He looked glorious, skin flush and warm, on his knees, Dyrfinna looked down the bodies as his hand travelled lower, his fingers spread on her lower stomach and his callused thumb rubbed up and down on her nub.

She tightened her legs around his hips, feeling warm and wet, his thumb twitching faster. The heat raced down her spine, filling her from chest outward, almost lifting her when the desperation, the brink was calling. Nothing but the thrum of the taint between them and this glorious need.

Dyrfinna's mouth opened, air sucked in hastily as it rushed to her, lights flashing under her eyelids, her mewls guttural and primal as she came down from the euphoric high.

They stayed entwined, both still panting, just watching the other as he slipped out, curling around her from behind and resting a warm forehead into her back of her head, arms holding her possessively around the middle, hand cupping her breast so naturally.

"I... I love you Finna." Loghain whispered breathlessly to her, sleepily nuzzling into her neck.

"I love you too Loghain." She whispered back, the feeling of the words alone claiming something deep in her chest as they drifted off into the dreamworld.

* * *

They awoke in the morning light in the same position, sweat dried into their skin and the scent of their exertions the last night permeating the air. Dyrfinna stretched in warm arms to have lips making a soft line on her shoulder. "Good morning to you too." She giggled lightly, roughly brushing fingers through her hair.

She twisted her hips to turn over, pressed within the circle of his arms to his chest, the musk of that was undescribably Loghain greeting her before she kissed him swiftly. They parted, sitting up and assessing the damage done about the tent.

Dyrfinna reached for her smalls, shifting them on with a wriggle. "Thinking of escaping?" Loghain's tone wasn't accusatory but merely amused. She still turned to him and kissed him again.

"Only for food - unless you have a feast still in your pockets." She whetted her lips, picking up her tunic and shrugging it on.

Loghain looked down himself, lacing up his britches. "Not for anyone but animals. I'll bet you an archery lesson that hound of yours is extremely put out. He'll beg."

"I am sure Asgrim will." She smirked, shuffling her britches on by laying down and arching up to pull them over her behind. Her boots were last, pulled on as her stomach rebelled on her, pinching for food. She glanced behind her to see Loghain pulling his tunic on and she poked her head out of the tent to see the cooking pot on the morning campfire, Bethany stirring it while talking to Leliana, with Silmarwen sitting next to her, a book in her lap, turning the pages one-handedly.

She stepped out, stretching fully - feeling calmer than she had before and damn it so much better from her bruises and strains yesterday having been seen to by strong, gentle hands. "Oh good morning Commander!" Silmarwen chimed, looking up. "Creators you look happy!"

"There is a glow about you, a shameless glow." Leliana smiled. "It seems the Hero of River Dane-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence." An all too familiar growl sounded behind her, a more dishevelled Loghain than she was used to standing behind her, an arm curling around her middle and a peck on her cheek.

"I was mistaken then, you both glow." Leliana giggled.

Dyrfinna felt more Warden thrums nearing and held her hand up to see Thorvald, Alistair and Carver approaching, rabbits caught and field-dressed slung over shoulders. They stopped briefly to pack them on the bronto, Mr. Rabbit, before sitting down near the group already there.

Suddenly a black, fluffy looking beast bounded up to them, sticking his nose in her crotch, his tail threatening to wag off his behind. "Get down." She put it firmly and the dog flopped back on his haunches, tongue hanging from his muzzle. He looked over at Loghain, a pleading look in his baleful brown eyes.

"Scavenger mutt." Loghain grumbled, reaching into a pocket and throwing down a rind of cheese and a strip of dried jerky for them to be snapped mid-air. "Told you."

"You did." Dyrfinna admitted.

"So where to next Dyr?" Bethany asked conversationally as she started ladling out watery porridge and dried fruit into bowls, passing them to the hunters returned and placing one ready for Silmarwen when she finished her paragraph.

"Onto Denerim, stopping at the prison of Aeonar on the way for Elrohir." She grabbed her bowl, not pausing a moment longer to eat. Sigfrost's pelt it was wonderful, if sweet. Bethany flavoured the porridge with the fruit and honey rather than butter and salt.

"Ancestors tits they actually got outta their tent!" Dyrfinna glanced over to see Oghren already in his armour, landing heavily next to the morning campfire and grabbing his own bowl (which so helpfully he'd carved 'The Mighty Oghren's Mighty Bowl' into with a paring knife one night). "Didn't think we'd be moving camp for about a week with all that tension buildin' up since Orzammar at least."

One amused and one icy glare at the berserker had the dwarf in stitches, dribbling porridge back into his bowl. "Ah! And so the leading Wardens of our crusade dragged themselves from passionate morning embraces to deign spend time with us. Tsk, tsk - such a shame." Zevran yawned, coming out of his tent in linen hose and tunic, a dagger strapped to his thigh. "I would have thought the legendary Grey Warden stamina would have made for a longer encampment while you two... let us say, explored new avenues?" His eyebrows waggled suggestively and pointed ears lifted for a burst of groans and guffaws about the camp.

"You - are terrible." Elrohir stumbled out of the tent he had to share with his sister for the time being, his hair almost obsessively tidy despite the rings of tiredness around his eyes, his robes not an inch askew. "Remind me why I slept with a rock in my back?" He asked rhetorically.

"You like a few kinks in the morning?" Zevran purred.

"Oh we have to keep this one." Oghren clapped the tattooed elf on the back heartily. "I promise to feed the Blighter and everything!"

"Only if you take him for walks and stop him from humping the other neighbourhood elves." Alistair quipped, joining the conversation.

"Sod, can I have a pony instead? Those critters looked funny when we passed 'em a few days back hitched to that caravan."

"We shall see Oghren." Dyrfinna smiled.

"I see two of the Scowling Wardens lost their badges... _and_ they've found them again." Alistair laughed.

"Hey pike-twirler, when you losing that funny smell about you?" Oghren jabbed an elbow toward him, not able to reach him from his seating.

"What funny smell?" Alistair furrowed his brow.

"The stink of virginity." He laughed, to whit Alistair blushed, groaning. Dyrfinna didn't miss the glance Bethany shot at the ex-templar, her eyes lingering not long like she was appraising him. And the look Carver shot that was very protective at both his sister and then at Alistair in warning.

"Oghren! Have we fully inducted Carver into the league of Ash Warriors and Berserkers yet?" Dyrfinna drew the conversation into a different line.

"There's more?" Carver groaned, head burying in his knees, putting his empty porridge bowl down at his side. "How many more trials do we have?"

"Two." Dyrfinna shrugged. "The test of your pain threshold and then the test to your tempering. One involves mead."

"I'd prefer ale." Carver grumbled.

"S'long as we get pissed as rats I don't care. The pain should be a hoot an' a half." Oghren chuckled. "You really wanna do the traditional pain test though?"

"I did." Dyrfinna grinned.

"You didn't! Blast it woman you shouldn't be taken, goin' after me own heart there!" The dwarf laughed. "Keep that one close grumpy pants."

Loghain didn't answer Oghren, instead pulling Dyrfinna closer to him with a territorial scowl in his direction. "What's this pain test..." Carver asked, hesitantly as if he hadn't already been made to sweat like a mule and his strength pushed to the limits in his training. He could be a fine Ash Warrior, not Berserker as Oghren wanted but suited well enough to the Avvar arts of pain suppressing.

"We shall do it when we set camp next, there is no special equipment needed." Thorvald nudged the warrior Hawke. "I went through such trials myself. It is not difficult and tempering test is more celebration than test. You should enjoy that one."

"I don't believe I will." Carver snorted. "You say I will but I really doubt it with you lot being as skewed as you are."

The two Ash Warriors (one a scouting Ash Warrior) and Berserker laughed, all knowing the fun they were going to have.


	25. The Trials of an Ash Warrior

Author note: This is too much fun... and I'm probably stalling but here - we're not at Denerim yet. Denerim will be fun! So many AU plot points to do...

Magda thanks you all for your liking of the smut - I'm trying to coerce her into writing the Alistair/Bethany scene so many people are wishing for - I keep telling her 'he's not being a selfish sob in this story - he's a nice Maric-esque person' - but does she listen? Nooooo... looks like she'll be off on another trip when I get to that one.

HUGE angsty Loghain/Alistair moment. It's not long but it's sooo angsty it hurt! Only a short chapter as I'm keeping Aeonar as a separate plot point.

* * *

Silmarwen could barely remember being this free before, sitting on top of the 'bronto' which wasn't as scary as he looked, he was a great docile baby really, and he loved her already, his rough tongue licked up her face to 'allow' her to ride him as the dwarf had said.

Truth be told she didn't view herself as Dalish, that was her brother, she never felt at home in Kinloch Hold. Just one night in the Warden encampment and she felt so settled with them, a comfortable aura around people who could rely on each other even through bickering and trying times. It was more a home than any place she could remember and she'd always wanted to be a Warden.

She grinned, the breeze brushing her long curly hair back over her shoulders, her ears perked up, the earrings jangling against each other. She'd made potions relentlessly months ago, trading them when the merchant came to the tower for coin until she had enough for the silver hoops.

Anders had pierced her ears for her - the look on Elrohir's face when she'd had them done was priceless but he was just a neat freak. Her brother, her neat freak. If someone else said it she'd give them a good zapping.

"Look at the bloody elf up there, happy like a nug in shit." Oghren laughed, gesturing to Carver up at her. The warrior looked up, his cheeks pink from the pace set for their travels.

"I'm injured, this sling isn't a fucking fashion accessory." She stuck her tongue out at what would be her fellow Warden soon enough.

"Will I be resurrecting 'I like you Tuesday'?" The Commander shouted back at them.

"No ma'am, Mari just has a mouth like a sewer pipe." Carver shouted back. "And if you wiggle your hips more Loghain will fall over."

The look shot from back at him was scary, eyes the colour of cloudy honey in that sweeping red band tattoo narrowed and a smirk on her face. Begrudgingly, Silmarwen had to agree with the ex-templar, there was a subsect in the Grey Wardens called the 'Scowling Wardens' - they really needed badges. Then again, Loghain's scowl was just a frightening when directed back. "If looks could kill Hawkling, you'd just've been vaporised on the spot." Oghren chuckled. "Just wait til we get your pain test over and done with, you'll scowl with the best of them."

Carver's scowl was formidable too. Oghren squinted back, mock-scowling before cackling with raucous laughter. "I always thought Ash Warriors were teamed with mabari." Silmarwen asked aloud, looking over a the massive dog that kept in pace to the Commander's feet, obedient to a fault.

"Thorvald's mabari was slaughtered alongside his sons, wives and the rest of his clan." The Commander said evenly, glancing over at the archer. "But they are with the Lady of the Skies, just as we shall be one day."

"And Andrastian." Silmarwen frowned, knowing full well that the two Avvars were not, especially with that bit of wording, it was difficult to find texts in the circle library that weren't fervently Andrastian, but such texts existed, written by 'explorer' Brothers of the Chantry who were as missionaries of the faith. The Dalish Gods were incredibly lacking and she relied on Elrohir's memory of them to know the faith she was brought up in, but she honestly knew more about Andraste, the Maker and the Tevinter Old Gods.

"Not the traditional ones. If the techniques have been taken up by lowlanders perhaps that is the case." The archer shrugged, murky brown eyes sweeping over the landscape. "I smell burning."

"Hey, so do I. This nose never lies." Oghren grunted, reaching for his battleaxe on his back. "Looks like we have a sodding fight on our hands!"

"Not if we avoid it. We choose our battles wisely, this could be nothing to do with us." Thorvald said quietly back, bow however in hand and his stance lowered.

"It could be darkspawn and the scent travelled far afield." Alistair attempted.

"Did you not spend a few months in the deep roads? That is not the smell of corruption." The archer slumped. "Commander?"

"Where in Ferelden are we now Constable?" The Commander deferred to the man with the map etched into his mind, his eyes closing as he seemingly traced their path in his head.

"Thirty miles south-east of the Highever lands, give or take." Loghain answered.

"Could this be the civil war we heard word of?" He nodded slowly at her question and hmm'ed. "Then this Ser Cauthrien that leads your armies now could be on the field of battle?"

"Not likely. I told them not to get involved if they could help it. I didn't think it was a Blight back then... for reasons. But I wasn't about to waste my army on fools squabbling in the north." Loghain looked pensive.

"Then we head around this, Thorvald will keep us out of this battle. Move Wardens." The Commander moved into step behind the archer, no complaints so far about missing out on bloodshed except a swigging Oghren making a crude dwarven gesture with his fingers at he back.

"Well that wasn't nice." Bethany sniffed.

"How'd you sodding well know what that means?" Oghren groused.

"You told me. You were quite drunk though." Bethany said dryly.

* * *

"Do we really have to do this?" Carver looked hesitantly at the dagger in the dwarf's hands, it was cleaned and heated in the campfire. Dyr had gotten oily mud brown paints from her supplies she'd brought from her clan and he stared at the painted faces around the campfire, the Wardens all crossed legged.

He could do this. Dyr and Thorvald though he was ready to join the long line of Ash Warriors. They'd invoked and chanted of their gods and everyone had gotten involved.

It felt like he was part of something huge and ancient - like being a Grey Warden. Bethany had three finger wide marks, each a finger width apart from nose across her right cheek to ear as had Silmarwen. The Markings of Sigfrost - to symbolise the knowledge that had been passed to him.

Alistair had matching horns like Thorvald emblazoned on each cheek. The Markings of Imhar the Clever - to symbolise the fact he should keep his wits about him and remember to kept gaiety in his heart.

He'd selected a long wide band down his face from forehead to chin as had Loghain. The Markings of Korth, the mountain father - to symbolise the strength he should wield in battle and in everything he did.

He found out the wide band that Dyr had over her eyes from templar to temple crossing over her eyes and bridge of nose was the Markings of Hakkon Wintersbreath - to symbolise the temperence, to endure, bend and never break. The mabari was given the same markings over his bristly snout, sitting like a sentinel in the campfire circle.

Leliana and Zevran sat, the latter oddly joyous about the act of the painting. Both had four prongs like a claw, extending from below their bottom lip, splaying outward then parallel down their necks to collarbones. The Markings of Uvolla, goddess of love and empathy, patron of wolves - to symbolise the undying bond he would share with Ash Warriors past and the fierce protectiveness he should hold to.

Oghren and Elrohir had the last part of the Avvar parthenon on their faces. The Markings of the Lady of the Skies, a wide band like the Hakkon one but lower on the face, just above the jawline and crossing the mouth. To symbolise that death is always around the corner, to never let it catch you unawares and that the Lady will embrace you into her feathery wings.

Morrigan had deigned to be part of such 'frivolous rituals' - sitting over by her separate camp, absent-mindedly stirring the pot on her fire but her attention on the book on her lap.

Carver took a deep breath, this was mired, steeped in belief he didn't have. Should he really be doing something he wasn't a part of?

"Yup Hawkling - part of even the dwarven test of pain now get yer arm out." Oghren grumbled, bringing the young warrior back into the moment.

"Traditionally even the dwarven berserkers even invoke the Avvar Gods for the initiation. That is part and parcel of the nomadic clan's pigrimage to Orzammar. I have taken part in two before not of my own." Thorvald explained. "We took the traditions of suppressing pain from the dwarves and they took out rituals. A pairing as old as Luthias Dwarfson and Scaea."

Carver felt a bit better, like he wasn't intruding on that part of it and looked again at the dagger. "Be quick then." He knelt down, his right arm thrust out with wrist facing up. Dyr tied a tourniquet around his forearm.

"Use the skills taught you, listen to the adrenaline in your blood, use it to counteract the pain." She whispered as she tied it tighter, his veins bulging on his arm.

Oghren held the dagger flat on his forearm, pressing the tip in deep. Carver concentrated, sweat beading his forehead as he tried to listen to the calling of his own bodies reaction to the pain when it washed over him like a wave. The sensation was cooling - like being washed, the feeling of the silverite tip of the dagger alien as it was just cutting a well of blood into his arm, trailing two inches - five inches an incision in a neat line. The dwarf passed the dagger away, Thorvald passing him a linen bundle that he opened carefully.

Carver watched the dark burgundy of his blood in the voluntary cut, welling to the pale of his skin, his brow furrowed - it was so odd just to see it. He'd bled often and profusely since joining the King's Army at fifteen (giving the false age of sixteen to get in) and even more so since joining the Grey Wardens. Yet this was the first true time a cut or wound failed to bring the sting of pain and the lance of agony. He'd done it!

The dwarf held his fingers pinched over the top of the cut and moved swiftly, rubbing them together to sprinkle a shower of white crystalline bits into the welling blood.

Carver felt his control falter, the sting in his arm heating up, the tag of his own blood. He grit his teeth, groaning low in his chest, damn it he had to hold to this. _Do not waver, hold that tempering of fire in wars - do not show weakness, you are the epitome of strength with these teachings._ The tenets of Hakkon and Korth rang in his ears. He noticed as his eyes watered that Dyr had beckoned his sister over and felt a rush of healing magic suturing up his sore arm.

That was odd - he could have sworn it was almost killing him with the pain a moment before. He watched his skin mend, the latent burn under his skin and let go of his bottom lip from between his teeth. Oghren, Dyr and Thorvald held their forearms out and he caught the faint lines on each arm of a scar. Carver looked down to see that Bethany hadn't healed it fully - leaving a vivid pink line where they'd cut.

"Welcome brother." The Commander ran a thumb wet with paint down the pink scar. "You have one more test left."

"Do it." Carver gulped. The test of Hakkon - of temperance.

His three fellows in the teachings of pain removal in battle grinned and dashed off, leaving him kneeling in the circle, the heat of the flickering campfire ahead him. His fellow Wardens remained silent and the three other returned with a cask between them, Thorvald with pewter mugs and clay steins in his arms.

"What's this? I don't have to drink something horrid do I?" He groused, sighing.

"No. It's mead Hawkling, it'll put hairs on that chest a yours." Oghren chuckled, standing the keg on it's side and shoving a wooden chuck on one side, Dyr doing the same on the other. Thorvald knelt down and opened the cork, stoppering it when the stein was full and passing the clay stein to him.

"You drink first as tradition dictates." He smiled, the green horns on his cheeks crinkling with the toothy expression. "It is more celebration than test - I did say."

Carver held the stein up, looking at the glazed clay, painted mabari on the sides and his name. "This is mine?" He queried.

"Yup. Boss got this hot chick who does pottery and shit in her clan to make it for ya. Now drink ya nug-humper, I can't until you do." Oghren harrumphed. Carver glanced at Dyr and took a swallow of the spicy mead, the honey flavours dancing on his tongue with the nutmeg and clove. "Whey-hey! Now let's get pissed!"

"You said it my friend." Dyr nudged him on the shoulder.

* * *

Dyrfinna sat with Loghain watching with him as Bethany and Alistair were... well they weren't watching per se but it was difficult not to notice the incredibly affectionate display as they were drinking. "The Korth band suits you." She hmm'ed swallowing back the dregs of her pint.

"I feel like a proper barbarian now. Just give me an axe and a wild woman - wait." Loghain stuck a tongue in his cheek, smirking. Dyrfinna opened her mouth in shock, balling a fist and knocking him playfully on the arm. He wiped a hand over his forehead, flecks of the dry paint coming off on his hand. "What?"

"I haven't an axe to present you, perhaps a wild woman will suffice?" She jabbed. "Carver did well in his test did he not?" She murmured conversationally, cupping her own empty stein in her crossed legs.

"I don't know." Loghain shrugged. "But salting the cut?"

"Inflicting more pain to push the pride of conquering a mere cut back. It would be a grievous injury while unaware that will harm him now. For all intents and purposes - Carver is a fully inducted Ash Warrior. Perhaps we can find a kennel to see if he bonds with a mabari."

She glanced over at the group of Carver, Oghren, Zevran and Silmarwen - laughing around the mead cast when Carver stood up blushing and laughing. "Off, off, off!" Silmarwen chanted, broken off by more drinking and Oghren spluttering as the young warrior turned and dropped his britches to reveal a mabari tattooed on one arse cheek. "Now look at that! I like, like two eggs in a hanky!" The elf cheered. Tipsy shaman. Carver hastily pulled his britches up.

Dyrfinna shook with silent laughter, pursing her lips. It wasn't funny. Loghain barked a short laugh beside her. "You've drunk too much. Into the tent with you."

"But-" She twisted and bit her lip at the look of a well trained face trying not to give away his intents - but she caught it. "Only if you join me."

"If you insist." He sighed mockingly. "That wiggling of your hips has been bugging me all day. Retribution is in order."

"Constable, I am the Commander, if anyone gives and order-" She was cut off by a swift clap on her leather clad behind.

"Retribution is in order. No more talking." Dyrfinna bit her lip again.

* * *

Bethany felt safe, warm in his arms, her pewter mug balanced on her knee, fingers curled around the handle. "I like this." She laid her head on the crook of his collarbone and shoulder, settling into the warm, soft tunic over his chest.

"I happen to quite like it too." Alistair smiled, looking down at her and softly brushing a wave of her hair off her cheek, flushed from the alcohol. "Maker's breath but you're beautiful."

"That's the alcohol talking." She giggled. Despite the fact they'd both not really drunk much they were both rather tipsy.

Bethany glanced over to see Elrohir and Thorvald with books by the campfire, the elf with the brilliant white hair trying to mouth the words in Thorvald's book. She'd once sat with the fatherly man and he tried to teach her the Old Ferelden he wrote in. No since luck but he was smiling at the elf, one side of his face higher than the other as he corrected him on a particular word.

"No it's not. You're beautiful - I've decided and that's the end of it." Alistair sniffed, mocking hurt over the implication he wasn't correct.

"And what's so beautiful about me hmm?" Bethany stifled a laugh - really it was Miriam who got the attentions of boys.

"Well, your eyes for one. They're beautiful. And... your hands are really quite lovely." Bethany smiled, snorting a soft breath. Her face was going to split. "And the smile you have that's like it's just for me."

"How would you know?" She asked coquettishly.

"Oh I know, there's a dimple on your right cheek. It's veeery cute." And just for measure he rubbed his thumb on the dimple on her right cheek, brushing the dried paint there. She thought it was quite an honour to be seen as 'knowledgeable' by the two Avvars. Silmarwen had practically sworn up a storm with her own happiness.

Alistair's lips brushed softly on her own, the fog of the spicy mead between them, the heat coming from her neck mixing with the heady earthy scent that was completely Alistair. Bethany groaned, pulling him closer, his hand still cupped on her cheek. He was getting so much better at all this kissing...

She broke apart breathlessly, staring into his eyes. "Would you... like to share a tent tonight?"

The blush on his cheeks said it all and she knew they were as inexperienced as each other. "You know I haven't... done anything like that." He closed his eyes. "I..."

"We don't need to take any clothes off or do anything." She reassured him. Maker's breath she quelled the ache in her limbs to have him. The surge of feminine want.

"I could do that?" He questioned himself. "Yeah... one cuddle bug coming right up."

In his tent his arms enveloped her as they fell asleep. His mere presence as the nightmares woke her soothing and oh-so right. They didn't need to do anything yet, this was a night just for them to cuddle up together.

* * *

Dyrfinna hated the rain and it fell in heavy ropes throughout the night and well into the day, a fine mist close to the ground, a fresh breeze through the rain. The ground was muddy and difficult to walk through.

"So Aeonar... Creator's I must be mad to think we'll be able to save anyone from there." Elrohir sighed, his ears were drooped downwards, his hair slick to his scalp and he brushed it back with a hand, rivulets of water streaming down his angular face.

"Do you know the history of the place we are to rescue your friend?" She asked.

"A Tevinter laboratory for their ghastlier experiments, that's all I know." He answered.

"Before that..." She prompted.

"No, I assume just a cleft in the cliffs." He shrugged.

"My name is Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar." His eyes widened at her but she remained stoic, retelling the histories they passed down. "When you told me the name of the prison I was more than shocked. My ancestors - before the schism that lead to the Chasind and the Alamarri to separate from the Avvar were from this region. They built wattle and dorb huts in the plains about the Cleft of Korth - the inverse mountain. When the schism happened half of the clan at the time remained on the plains and we kept a history of their slaughter by the Tevinters. That they bastardised our clanname to name such a place gave me the chills."

"Ay-oo-nar? Not Ay-on-ar. Interesting." The elf sighed heavily. "So I'll bet you're kinda peeved I'm asking to go to Tevinter of all places."

"No. I should hope for friendly faces in a sea of hostile barbarians that inhabit that country. You, Mahariel and this friend of yours would be... good at least should I ever need travel there."

"Thanks. I think most people just forgot there were people and wars before living memory. I suppose it'll be the same about the Occupation - sorry Loghain."

"I didn't end it to be a hero, I ended it to help free Ferelden from those lickspittles and to put the usurper down." Loghain muttered. "It wasn't for Maric, or putting him on the throne."

"So I don't need to be King?" Alistair sounded shocked.

"Ferelden has a Queen, a strong Queen. No usurper stands in the way - I might have... another reason why not but you don't need to know." Loghain harrumphed.

"Oh please!" Alistair brightened up despite the rain.

"No. Maric swore me to secrecy." Loghain snorted, a drop of rain falling off his nose with the action.

"Then you have to tell me!" Alistair groused.

"No."

"Please?"

"You really are Maric incarnate."

"Does that mean you'll tell me?"

"No."

"Pleeeeeease? With cherries on top?"

"No."

"Come on, I'll not ask for anything else."

Loghain turned about on the spot, the warring emotions on his face as he gripped the younger warrior on the shoulders, turning icy blue eyes at him eventually. "Maric never wanted the throne. He had to give up a lot to take it and I think, secretly resented that. I did too, the resent and the giving up of..." He trailed off. "The important thing is, when Maric handed me this babe in swaddles and told me to take him somewhere safe, nothing other than your name - he said both he and the mother didn't want their legacy to haunt you. I always assumed it was the throne, I haven't a clue about your mother lad."

Alistair blinked, his face almost looking to break. "Thank you..." He sighed, gulping. "How do I remind you of my father?" He asked hesitantly. Loghain turned away, back to their walking.

"The endless chatter. I hated it at first then found myself disgusted in the fact I missed it when he finally shut up." And that was the end of the conversation.

Bethany and Alistair held hands, not speaking but her inner strength holding him up as they walked. Loghain stood close to Dyrfinna, not speaking - the silence was not comfortable as it often was between them but she knew better than to bring the subject but when it obviously was hurting him.

* * *

Elrohir tensed the closer they got to the pinpoint he'd remembered Aeonar prison was. He didn't like the feeling of it, the lyrium just beneath their feet, the pulse of magic and the knowledge it was an armed fortress more or less that housed some of the worst magical delinquents. The history behind this site was gruesome, the slaughter Ages ago - before the Divine Calendar even and then the subsequent deaths ever since with the experiments the Tevinters put people through here.

Then the Chantry claiming the fortress laboratory. So much death that the veil was thinner than the onion-paper the Chant was bound in. It felt so disconcerting it burned his veins and flesh if he paid too close attention to it.

He promised himself he'd undo what he did though. Jowan was one of his best friends, while he didn't agree with the way that he'd wanted to go about the whole business with escaping Kinloch Hold and had betrayed him to First Enchanter Henry Irving he knew he wanted it to work out anyway. He'd hoped they could have been quick enough to escape before anything happened.

_Mahariel... Ma vhenan, I wish you were here. _

_**I am.**_

The voice was loud in his head, like a clanging gong and he startled on the spot. The veil was so thin - perhaps she could... communicate with the waking world here. _Could she do any magic here?_

_**I could, but this place is accursed ma sa'lath, I hope you have a plan. I have found a way for a quick escape, should you need it but you must place utmost faith in me ma vhenan.**_

"Does anyone have a plan by the way? On getting in and out alive that is?" Elrohir asked aloud as if he wasn't hearing a voice in his head that may or may not have been Gilraen.

**_You don't call me that!_**

_Gotcha. _

Alistair looked down the cliff they were perched atop, bellies to the grass to keep from being seen and Mr Rabbit the bronto kept well back with the anti-social mule. "And I can see three templars on guard at the door. On no... two."

"I might have a plan." Loghain said ominously. Elrohir looked over, hoping that history in the tower wasn't lying about the infallibility of the plans the ex-teyrn made during the Rebellion. Mythal please... he needed to do this.


	26. The Aeonar

Author note: Aeonar! You know I named Dyrfinna purposely at the beginning of this fic for that singular piece of information in the last chapter. Terrible author is terrible indeed.

Anyway - let more AU begin! Don't forget to R&R. I'm not 100% happy with this chapter but I can't think of how to change it.

* * *

Dyrfinna held onto the rope tied about her middle, feeling awfully shaky this far up. She glanced upwards, hoping the bronto wouldn't falter and that she wouldn't need to have been wearing her full armour. Morrigan flew past as a raven, dive-bombing on the two templars on guard to rile them up.

As expected one of them started chasing the witch, all the way up the stairs built into the cleft until Thorvald's arrow skewered him through the neck. One gone.

She landed on the edge below her, kneeling tentatively there and tugging the rope. The bundle of spears was lowered down and she held tight to the first of them.

Dyrfinna took in a deep breath and launched the spear, the sharp projectile landing right next to the templar left. He looked hesitantly at it, as if pondering what to do when he rushed forwards after his fellow that had chased Morrigan.

When he was level with her she threw the second spear, knocking his helmet off. He looked over to see her and started scrambling to the position aboe her where the rope was tied. She almost felt the waves of lightning crackling in the air when the rope around her middle was tugged.

She picked up the remaining spears and tossed them upwards before starting the climb back up the craggy cliff face.

She was greeted by Alistair getting buckled into templar armour as well as Thorvald - who put the helmet over his head to cover his tattooed face.

"I feel like an... idiot." Alistair groused.

"So wonderful to have your thoughts finally catching up to your reality." Morrigan sniffled, back in her human form.

"So Elrohir and Morrigan, mud and really bathe in it." Dyrfinna sighed, picking up a dagger and cutting a shallow gash on her wrist and on her cheek, listening to her own bodies adrenaline to ignore the pain. She knelt down and rubbed a hand of dirt over her face and scuffed up her boots. "Do I look like a defeated shaman?"

"Why do three of you have to fucking well go? Two templars could hardly catch three apostates." Simarwen sighed.

"They're big headed pricks, they won't question it in the slightest." Loghain looked carefully at her. "When you come back get Bethany to heal you."

"Yes, yes, I shall be fine." She sighed.

* * *

Thorvald carried her ancestral sword at his hip and she kept her dagger hidden under the edge of her britches, the hilt obscured by her cuirass. Shaman weren't deemed strong enough to wear heavy plate. Elrohir hated to get muddied up and objected to the ropes binding his hands behind his back just as much as Morrigan and Alistair and Thorvald held the three 'defeated shaman' between them. It wasn't that she couldn't fight with her dagger and sword but she preferred her shield in her off hand. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

Loghain's plan was to get in and out without the need to fight the legions of templars in here, but it didn't mean they have a plan in case it did come to it.

The steps were difficult while bound and 'cowed' but eventually they were on the walkway up to the fortress door. One way in and out.

"Where'd Ulfric and Justin go?" The templar on the right muttered, shaking his head. "Spears don't just appear in the ground."

"You know weird shit happens, it's the ruddy thin veil here. Anyways, most probably off to the privy, the bean casserole last night - Maker's breath." The templar on the left snorted a short laugh under his helmet.

"I don't like it. Ho there! Who comes?" The templar on the right up a hand up to halt.

"Ser Alistair and Ser Thorvald plus three apostates - wouldn't give names but you should've seen the bloody magic they were getting up to. Knight-Commander said to take 'em straight here. No circle for these damned mages." Alistair tugged the rope sharply and three 'defeated shaman' glared over at him. Dyrfinna was surprised just how much like a proper templar he could sound. But from what she could ken he'd been in training as one for over nine years, she shouldn't have been so surprised.

"Maleficarum?" Right templar asked.

"Didn't see it but some of it just weren't natural." Alistair shook his head beneath his helmet. "Oh, and we were told we could pick up our ration here?"

"S'funny, we got a few like that - put 'em in the maleficarum wing - that's where Knight-Lieutenant's been shoving them. These apostates eh? Always finding new ways to slip by ain't they?" Templar Left chuckled.

"You said it. This one here was inscribing weird words in a book." Alistair jostled toward her - her cue.

"Þú ættir að deyja á bálit!" She shouted. Thorvald faked the manoeuvre of a 'smite' and she lurched forward, 'weakened' as was asked of her.

"Ser Thorvald here is one of the new undercover templars, was tracking her for weeks and learned how to do his duties without being detected." Alistair motioned. "Anyway, we take them from here - we can pick up our ration from?"

"Oh, you can have mine, I'll just get a top up later." Templar Left passed a glass flask full of lyrium to Alistair and then one to Thorvald.

"You're doing a good job Sers, three less dangerous apostates in the world." Templar Right waved them past, Alistair and Thorvald striding ahead and pulling the 'defeated shaman' along.

"Utterly incompetent, just as assumed." Morrigan sniffled once they were past the doors. "Will you undo these binds or shall I be forced to burn them?"

Dyrfinna brought her binds round to her side and slipped her dagger out, flipping it in her hands and cutting the ropes. She quickly undid Elrohir's and Morrigan's binds, taking her belted sword off of Thorvald and wrapping it around her middle. "No magic needed." She deferred over to Elrohir. "So you bribed for a map - where should we go?"

"Give me a moment. The veil between the waking world and the Fade is so thin here I can hear Mahariel." He stilled a moment. "Jowan is being held in the maleficarum wing, she can direct us to him and then to a portal of sorts that is linked to a place in Tevinter."

Alistair passed his lyrium flask over to Elrohir as he was silent and Thorvald to Morrigan. "We head right - take the third door on our left then we should find Jowan. Let me talk to him - I did him a great disservice. Then just follow me through this maze, do you have the twine?" He turned to Morrigan for that last bit and she pulled the yellowed string from her pocket, tying it to an empty hook on the wall, one that would likely have held a slave. Dyrfinna tried to school her expression but she couldn't help but scowl. Damned Tevinters.

"Let us do this quickly then." Dyrfinna straightened up.

* * *

Elrohir hated having to see his friend like this. He approached the bars of the cell, his eyes watering at the smell of faeces and urine and quickly burnt his way through the lock. "Jowan?" He said slowly. The human held upright by the shackles around his wrists, blood having dripped from them where he'd fought against them all the way down to his shoulders, looked up.

"Elrohir?" He rasped, his voice hoarse. "You bastard!"

"Calm down. I... I'm so sorry Jowan. I really hoped we'd have been quick enough to all escape but I... I couldn't, I really couldn't. Henry saw me skulking around and it just got blurted out. He made me do it, make sure the Chantry paid other than you. I said as long as they didn't make you tranquil I would... please Jowan... I have a way for us to be mages where we won't be feared, where the word mage isn't a slur."

"You think that's enough?" He looked down his naked chest, welts lined across it. "They've done things worse here than make people tranquil. I... please, just give me an end."

"No!" He grit his teeth, his ears drooping downwards and approached the man he could once call friend. "You're coming with me, I owe you so much - you never cared I was an elf, never thought twice about being friends with the kooky Dalish elf who couldn't stand getting his robes dirty. I betrayed you and I'm so sorry. I... please let me make it up to you."

"They killed Lily, right in front of me." Jowan closed his eyes, tears slipping the lids and burning a clean trail over the blood and dirt on his face. "But... call me crazy but were were once friends. All right. Just get me out of here." Elrohir moved forward, a lump in his throat as he burnt quickly through the shackles. "Who are... these people?"

"Friends, Grey Wardens willing to do this for me." Elrohir held tight as Jowan enveloped him in a hug, his already slim form emaciated. He didn't care he was getting blood on him, he didn't care that Jowan smelled worse than the mabari.

"Thank you." Jowan croaked over his shoulder.

"Anything to free someone wrongly imprisoned." Dyr said behind him. "But we should hurry."

"Just follow, Mahariel is able to lead us to an object called an Eluvian. They're ancient portals created by the Dalish of Arlathan, each is twinned with another - the one she could scry here is linked to one in Marnas Pell - from there we can make our way to Qarinus where she lives."

* * *

They met little souls through the maze of the Aeonar prison, but through one door Dyrfinna saw a shaman stretched out on a rack, desperately trying to bring flames to his hands as a templar with a black cowl cut into his skin, pouring liquid lyrium over the cut.

Bile came rushing to her throat and she grit her teeth. "Can we not just kill them all?" She hissed.

"Not if we wish to walk out alive." Morrigan sighed back, even the unshakable witch sounded harrowed by the screams that muffled their walking through the corridors lit only by infrequent lit wall sconces.

"Just a little longer." Elrohir held at point, his friend with arm over his shoulders. The pain they'd inflicted on the shaman - the bleeding welts on his back and front, the cuts made on his body and the burnt brands. It was disgusting what they did to him. "Come on Jowan, keep on walking. Mahariel - can you heal him?"

"The veil isn't thin enough for her. Damn you creators! Where?" He growled after a while. Dyfinna felt worried about the child of Shartan, it couldn't be healthy to hear a voice in his head. But with all the wonders of the world, magic and magnificent creatures such as griffons and dragons - how could she discount it?

They ducked into a storeroom of sorts and Elrohir pulled a canvas sheet off a tall stand - a mirror in an ornate frame with a shimmering mirror within.

It looked like purple water over the surface. The elf held his friend over the front and the wounds on his skin started to mend in front of the eyes. Jowan looked up, grey eyes watered and he wiped back some of his greasy black hair. "Go through... I have a few thanks to make." He pushed the other shaman through the mirror and her eyes widened - he was just gone.

"Thank you all... so much. I hope you don't have any difficulties getting out but thank you. If I ever can I'll repay you. All you have to do is ask and I'll do everything I can." He hugged her tightly. "Anything - just go to sleep and call for Mahariel."

"Hurry, before we are found." She let the elf go and he slipped back into the mirror - just gone.

"How come I don't get hugged?" Alistair quipped when they were gone.

"Because you smell worse than fox droppings." Morrigan sneered.

"You didn't get hugged either." Alistair snorted a short laugh.

"I do not require physical affection to know how grateful the elf was. Now come, we should leave this place." Morrigan bristled. "Ah... we happen to be too late."

Her hands lit up with the orange magics and two templars that had burst into the room fell to the floor, groaning, hands clawing at their faces.

"Move now!" Dyrfinna unsheathed her sword and motioned with it to follow the twine Morrigan had attached to her belt.

It was twists and turns often and winding in what seemed like circles downward that they'd travelled to get to the Eluvian, but they made their way back up, ever aware of the shouting of templars made aware of their presence.

A hand grabbed out from one of the rooms and Dyrfinna was jerked in. She moved her sword to cut the man's neck but his gauntlet caught it in time. "I'm not your enemy." He hissed. It was then she recognised the warmth in the man's presence. He was a Warden! Her eyes widened as she took in the form, the brown hair sheared as if by a blunt dagger and surprisingly youthful face, his jaw wide and stubble uneven.

"Who are you?" She hissed, jerking her sword back and looking behind her to see Morrigan, Thorvald and Alistair slump into the room. The man didn't say anything other than quickly cutting the twine around Morrigan's belt with a small flame on his finger.

"He's a Grey Warden is what he is." Alistair stated rather redundantly.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room and she noted the man was both a shaman in covered in what looked to be scrap metals battered into a crude armour, that the gauntlet hand was actually flattened discs like coins that were linked together. "Would that other Wardens would find me." He grit his teeth and pulled them further into the shadows as their following of templars that had chased them ran past - following the twine left.

"Who are you?" Dyrfinna hissed at the shaman, he put a hand over her mouth, the tang of aged copper against her lips. She shoved an elbow into his gut, meeting more linked coin-discs through her tunic-clad elbow.

"Be quiet. We can talk in a moment, just follow me, trust me and we can get out without their notice. I've been waiting to escape for ages and not even fellow Wardens will stop me!" He pulled her further into the dark and she motioned for the others to follow. If she was being lead to her death she'd prefer to be avenged. He lit up a finger in flame again and gestured above them to a hatchway, wrought iron handles like footholds up to it. He ascended upwards and pulled it open slowly, a rusty shower of metal covering them as it opened.

The smell of fresh air hit into the room like a wave, a light breeze over their faces. She looked up past him to see a pinpoint of light at the top. "Follow me or eventually the templars will find you - and trust me, they _will_ hurt you more than any mage could."

* * *

Loghain felt the Warden presences as if under his feet when the shout came out. He snapped around and a hand poked out of the grassy ground, muddy and sooty armour of sorts over the hand. The figure emerged in dusty ripped robes, covered in mud and soot with green edged copper coins sewed over the lot of it. The man coughed and put a hand down into the hole he'd crawled out of, a bloody, sooty, muddy hand clasping to his.

He pulled Finna out, she hacked a bloody glob of dirt onto the grass and lay there for a moment, breathing heavily. "Fucking void, what happened?" Silmarwen cursed.

"Templars found us." Alistair groaned back to the elf as he got out of the hole. Morrigan flew past him and transformed with a flash of light into a grubby version of her human form. The last out of the hole was Thorvald, shoving his helmet off to spit on the ground.

"Bethany, can you heal us, the chimney was harsh." Thorvald groaned.

"Who's this?" Loghain said pointedly over to the man covered in flattened coins. "And he's a Warden too? You find people in the oddest places." He said the last part to the woman still hacking up on the grass and knelt, rubbing up her back. "You'll cough up a lung."

"I know." She ground out, looking up, her face covered in the black powder and the cut on her face bleeding more than when she'd done it. Damned woman didn't need to do it but thought it'd add to the effect of being a captured, defeated mage. "The templars found us after Elrohir and his friend Jowan disappeared through a portal mirror that lead to Tevinter. This man, who still has not given his name - saved us Loghain and aided our escape."

"Thank you then." Loghain muttered begrudgingly. "Name?"

"Holy Andraste." The man wiped his gauntlet over his face successfully just moving the dirt over it. "That's not my name... er, just confused as to why Loghain Mac Tir is a Grey Warden."

"Tainted - now your name?" Loghain wasn't going to trust blindly this man, not today, not because they shared a common factor in having the darkspawn taint in their veins. It just wasn't how he worked - blindly trusting.

"Kornelius Blackwood at your service." He bowed at the hip, his robes jangling with the flattened coins. "Mage wrongly locked up in that Maker-forsaken prison since Dragon 9:28. Luckily they thought I died and I got left in a pile of other dead bodies for the furnace. I've been hiding in the shadows, finding and making the clothes I wear and eating rats and bugs - biding my time to escape up the chimney. Your lot managed to get the templars out of the furnace room before they lit it - hence the escape now."

"Why the coins?" Silmarwen gestured at him.

"Have you had a sword to the middle? It's not pleasant and I happen to enjoy having my innards where I can't see them. You try to make armour with only the odd coin dropped when the templars heft bodies about. The rest I scavenged, this shiv, the raggedy robes - all my own and I'm awfully proud of them thank you very much." Kornelius shook his head, a liberal amount of soot shaking out his messy hair.

"Two years! You've been in there for two years!" Alistair coughed again. "Maker's breath, that's incredible!"

"Freedom is something I had to wait for. Shame I only got a month in the Wardens before I got locked up. My whole troop was slaughtered by the templars and I was just taken here. Let me tell you now, I almost left you until I realised you were Wardens." He gestured at the sooty templar armour.

"Why did they target you?" Finna asked, standing again now Bethany had healed them. Loghain felt oddly relieved nothing worse had come to them in Aeonar - it would have been his fault if it had. If he wasn't so damned recognisable he would have gone in her place.

"Because I'm a mage?" He shrugged. "And I may have been bleeding when I got captured so they assumed I'm a blood mage? Honestly no clue. So, who are all of you?"

Finna looked sceptical but sighed, gesturing at each of them in turn. "Commander Dyrfinna - you may call me Dyr if it so pleases you. You know Constable Loghain, and the rest of us are Wardens Alistair, Thorvald, Leliana, Bethany, Oghren, Bethany, Carver as well as recruits Zevran and Silmarwen and our companion Morrigan." The hound whined. "And Asgrim."

"Commander and Constable? What happened to..." Kornelius slumped. "Duncan and Lucien died... damn it! What about the others? Kherek? Gregor? Tamarel? Branwen? Nothing could kill Branwen surely? Which compound are they all at?"

"All dead, we're the totality of the Ferelden Wardens left." Alistair said glumly. "I'm very sorry."

"Great - when did this happen?"

"A few months back. The darkspawn were amassed at Ostagar Fortress in the south - me, Lucien and Thorvald were the only survivors, or so we thought. Morrigan's mother - who is Flemeth or so we're lead to believe - saved Dyr and Alistair. Loghain was tainted and inducted into the order then and since that we did some recruiting until Lucien died in the deep roads against a broodmother." Carver explained. "I think we have a lot to explain."

* * *

Kornelius boggled over everything as they walked, King Cailan dead, every Warden he'd ever known dead, the Blight - which he'd had the nightmares over and had to bind his mouth about when he actually slept.

He knew their lives were dangerous but it was horrid what they faced. On top of the Blight they had Orlesians attacking the Avvar clans according to the new Commander, and Loghain suspected it was just them trying to get their feet through the boarders and removing 'barbarian resistance'. Then a civil war on top of all that.

They were on route to Denerim at this moment to hopefully figure out the Binding spell for the Joining or they'd be stuck up a creek without a paddle. He didn't have the heart to tell them he knew it yet.

They set camp and his fellow Warden Bethany taught him a warding spell to obscure their camp from pretty much everything as it even obscured them from darkspawn. His first meal that wasn't rat or bug nearly made him cry - even if it was lumpy yellow stew cooked by Warden Oghren that was so rich with alcohol he was sure he'd be able to light his breath on fire.

Denerim would hopefully hold the best route ahead for them - the civil war needed to be ended or the darkspawn would walk through the country without resistance should everyone just kill each other. The chevaliers couldn't be allowed to just waltz in and kill them either. He despaired - he'd walked from the proverbial frying pan and into the fire.

"You look so upset." He looked up to see the Commander sit next to him, crossing her legs and offering him her water skein. He took a swig of the brandy and elfroot infused water.

"You can't imagine." He sighed. How could anyone realise just how horrid being imprisoned - beaten until they thought you were dead - eating rats and other vermin until you could escape and then finding out the only friendly faces you'd ever known were dead.

"I know how difficult it is to leave the only people you have known and be thrown into a world you could never fathom. You realise how disgusted I am that shaman or as you lowanders call them 'mages' are imprisoned? I have been speaking to both Silmarwen and Zevran did you know that elves are still trodden underfoot after my ancestors fought with their lives against the Tevinter Imperium to free them from bondage? When I first came from my clan I could barely understand so much - I had never heard of the Maker, what a templar was, that it is seen as barbaric a culture I was brought up in... I held a dagger to the throat of a woman called a 'Revered Mother'." The Commander looked over at the campfire. "But the people we travel with - they are friends. Despite any squabbling and bickering each of us would defend another to the death."

Kornelius looked at her, noting the sadness, the slumped shoulders, the dark rings that were under her eyes despite the tattoo across her face. The Avvar woman understood a lot. "Everyone I knew is dead. I used to live in the Jainen circle of Magi - I escaped and settled down in a tiny village called Rainesfere. Clean, lots of farmers and I was an unofficial healer and midwife. One day these templars were passing through. My wife was in labour - nearly dying. They did a routine search and I had a choice - expose my magic or have her and possibly my daughter - die. I picked the former and the bastards killed them. I fought back but I was only a healer, I could barely make a passable flame."

"What happened next?" She asked. Kornelius took another swig from the water skein.

"I was bound up and thrown into a wagon with anti-magic runes. This dwarf had been passing through on his way to his Calling - Kherek. He conscripted me even though I just wanted to die at the time and took me to Denerim. I was taken into the Compound and given the Joining, surviving alongside a warrior called Branwen - remarkable woman, she was a pit fighter who was nearly strung up for killing a man in the pits."

He paused sighing. "I was on a routine patrol with three others in the troop I was assigned to. Fredrick, Oscar and Victor. On route to Orzammar to help with an incident the Legion of the Dead deemed too dangerous the templars crossed our path on route to Aeonar with a chantry sister that harboured apostates. We'd just been attacked by bandits and my hand was cut. They assumed and... slaughtered my brother Wardens. I was bound again and taken to Aeonar. You know the rest."

Kornelius hadn't had this level of communication he'd had today with anyone for what was over a year now. He'd always been a friendly person - loved talking. The time he'd been imprisoned as difficult for more than the horrid conditions. He'd found a mouse and kept him in his pocket, wishing his little friend that he shared crumbs stolen from the prison kitchens could speak back. He'd become a past master at the ventilation system in the prison - and other than strolling through the front door the only way he'd be able to escape was that furnace chimney.

To just speak to someone who could speak back again was wonderful. "I am sorry... so sorry this happened then." She leaned forward and hugged him. Kornelius sighed, closing his eyes and unbidden - tears slipped his façade he'd had to hold up for so long.

"It's happened." He croaked. "I mourned and damn it I never let them kill me."

"It is all right. Just let it out." She shushed, rubbing the back of his head like someone would to soothe a child.

* * *

Silmarwen saw her first darkspawn when they were nearing Denerim. It was a band of a mage, a few dozen 'genlocks' and a couple 'hurlocks'.

"Attack the mage first!" Loghain yelled as the dark shadow spell hit him in the chest. The ex-teyrn groaned on the floor and Dyr slashed a genlock away from him as he writhed.

Lightning and fire hit the darkspawn mage at the same time. It burnt to ash - Kornelius, Morrigan and Bethany were all able to wield fire and her lightning crackled futile in the air about the genlocks.

"Why isn't it fucking well working!" She shouted from atop the bronto.

"Genlocks are resistant to magic! Like dwarves!" Alistair shouted back as the genlock he was fighting was brought down with arrows. The blond ex-templar made a quick salute over at the archers before spinning around and slashing at another genlock.

Oghren crashed through the hurlocks, his axe clanging against their armour, darkspawn toppled as he raged through the ranks. She gathered the lightning and threw it at them, blood crackling with the magic as those ones went down quick enough. Oghren chuckled, surrounded my the corpses frazzled and downed by his axe, taking a swig from his beard flask before he charged at the genlocks surrounding Loghain and Dyr, Alistair, Zevran and the other mages trying to thin the ranks.

The dog bounded and ripped the throat out of one of them and it went down, the dog barking and growling as it continued to attack.

It whimpered as an axe hit it's back. "Asgrim!" The Commander yelled, her shield crashing through the genlock that wounded the animal. The dog perked up, more vicious that it's mistress was rallying it.

"You bloody crazy woman!" Loghain shouted after her, up and tearing through them.

"Move out the fucking way!" Silmarwen screamed as she felt the balance of the earth and stone beneath the darkspawn. The warriors cleared back, Kornelius erecting a barrier up around them to hold them in place. She let go of her hold and the ground erupted inside the bubble of the barrier. The genlocks wailed and smashed together with there with the rocks.

Kornelius dropped the barrier when the earthquake with stonefists flying through it stopped. "This is why having shaman in everyday life is needed!" The Commander declared as if to the sky. "We could have died if not for that!"

"Call down Dyr." Alistair put his hands out. Bethany was healing the hound who perked up more and licked her face affectionately.

"Do you realise how unfair to everyone not Andrastian, human and without magic your society is?" She turned on him. "How could it all happen!"

"Bastards who like their own type to be superior?" Oghren grunted, putting his axe away. "Not like we can do anything 'bout it so come outta your rage, have a swig of Oghren's homebrew and we'll grouse about how shitty these surfacers and lowlanders are when we get to Denerim drunk off our arses."

The Commander slumped. "You are right. Heal everyone who requires it and you had better pass that flask dwarf before I kill the first person who utters a word about some superiority they think they have."

Oghren laughed and took the beard flask off - handing it to Dyr. She drank deeply. "Grumpy pants, you better hold that woman tight! Whoo!"

The look the ex-teyrn gave the dwarf was fairly scowly - as she expected by now but he did silently chuckle after a brief 'scowl war' between the two of them. Dyr slipped an arm around Loghain's middle and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Oghren, if he has to hold onto me to fend off your advances I should let you two just get on with the falling into a tent." Then she laughed, swigging again from the flask.

Silmarwen burst out laughing, holding her stomach with her good arm. "She made another joke. The world is a strange place and I'll never understand what makes her laugh." Alistair shook his head.

"Lookee here, elfikins up there thought it were funny too." Oghren gestured up to her. "Come 'ere grumpy pants then, give us a smooch!"

"I have no desire to kiss you." Loghain rolled his eyes at the dwarf.


	27. Trouble in Denerim

Author note: Yes - another Warden in the mix and isn't Kornelius a bit of an oddball? As with the main companions, he has a story arc and just wait for the drama to ensue. I love him as a character and can taste my own anticipation about him.

But they seem to pick someone up in every place they go - I don't like Wynne and already had the plan about conscripting Silmarwen and Elrohir with the option for them to do what they wanted to do with their freedom, to join the Wardens or not.

And now for Denerim! Let's find out what's actually happening eh?

Oh Gods I love, LOVE - creating a fantasy world. Denerim is a real treat for the artistic side of my writing to come out and explore what is already given us.

* * *

Loghain was quite shocked how much of the dwarf's homebrew Finna'd drunk and just how sober she was. Could Aeonar have been that bad? How much resentment was bubbling under the surface there?

She'd been quieter than usual since they'd picked up the shabby mage from the damned place and he kept on re-iterating how he should've gone in Thorvald's place and pretended to be a templar.

But finally they reached the outlying farmhouses and fields around Denerim, there were a few runners sent ahead from one of the stables (The Grand Old Mare - lovely owners who made apple pies and actually treated the horses well, if Loghain had a choice he would have horses from that stable. Not many people made it into his good books so easily but Peter and Myrtle were those sorts of people you couldn't help but like even as a cantankerous and easily riled old goat).

Peter and Myrtle were trustworthy enough to look after Mr Rabbit and Greagoir. Just thinking of trooping the great beast and stubborn mule through Denerim would be nightmare enough. They didn't need to create such a scene, they did have to take most of the supplies off of them and carry them now.

The main city was walled for the most of it, huge wrought iron gates heading through the brick and stone. The guardsmen on duty just waved them through as word had already passed through about the Grey Wardens and more importantly - his arrival judging by the utterance 'Just let the Teyrn and his group through'.

Finna stared at the houses and buildings as they walked the cobbled streets, the gaudy banners hung between the houses - the First Day banners. They'd missed that particular holiday then. Anora might have words about that, for all she liked to show she was an independent and free-thinking woman who didn't need people around her - she really did enjoy having someone like himself around.

She was her father's daughter in a lot of ways. Loghain realised it a lot more as his daughter had aged, there was the same stubborn streak in her and despite her greatest wishes she could give a scowl worthy of curdling milk if it was required.

"This place is so... big." Finna announced. "How can so many people live in one place?"

"Orzammar was big, you didn't find it so strange then." Alistair commented.

"That was a whole kingdom, this is but one city." Her tone was full of awe and if he really listened it was slightly shaken. Loghain slowed his pace to stand beside her.

"Denerim is just a place, if you separate it in your mind into manageable districts and areas it feels smaller." She looked over at him, nodding to his words.

"Is there a map you could draw the boarders on for me so I can do just that?" She breathed.

"Tourist kiosks tend to have nice maps." Alistair shrugged.

"Not too accurate and they leave out too much of the proper city." Loghain explained. "I should have a few somewhere that would suffice."

"It is so very large." Thorvald said, the archer sounded worse off. "Dyrfinna has the advantage of having been from a settled clan, mine never stayed in one place longer than a year. Permanence is an unknown to the Avvar, as all mountains eventually wear away and the land changes with the seasons - nothing is the same forever."

"I find your philosophy so intriguing, almost like a lost culture." The bard gushed. "And the language you write in, the traditions. So much of it stems into modern life where I never knew the connection. To place our cultures side by side and examine the details would shed light on a lot of things."

The archer laughed. "I suppose that would be the case."

They came into the marketplace, the huge canvas bunting high over the main stalls that squat in the centre, merchants hawking wares to the shoppers, one with cages full of pullets and the other side with older chickens - for the stewpot or mabari food due to the stringy meat. A vast rack of eggs in front of the merchant, his prices painted on a big sign and announcing a cattle-market in three days time.

Next to the chicken farmer a salesman of fabrics, a huge crowd around as he sold bolts of cloth, the elven servants and more stringent on quality tailors placing them over their shoulders as they ducked out of the crowds to take their purchases back to their workshops.

Behind that, he could smell the incense and musk as they walked - a perfumery of sorts, lavender bundles decorating her section of the bunting and dried flower packets and smelling salts advertised in curlicue writing.

Jewellers with glass-covered stalls to stop petty thieves stealing their goods; armourers with stands and samples of their work; a loud Rivaini shouting to sell tickets to a travelling circus, half his teeth golden and heavy gold around his neck and adorning his ears, expensive gaudy striped jacket and knickerbockers that was made out to show just how amazing the 'Amazing Strongman Ringo' would be and 'Vanessa: The Contortionist and Fire-Walker' as well as 'The Snake-Man of Llomerryn'.

"Can we go to the circus?" Alistair asked Finna.

"We shall see, we do have a Blight to contend with but some levity would be needed." She responded evenly, her eyes still wide as she was taking in everything she could see. If he remembered correctly the last census done said seventy thousand people lived in the city - not including the alienage, if he tried to estimate he'd say Finna's clan was maybe a five-hundred people including children - it's wasn't usually done to place children on census until they reached five years due to plague and food shortages.

"Oh! The Wonders of Thedas! Can we pleease go!" The bard almost squealed when she saw the signpost indicating they'd gotten a new shipment of 'wonders' in.

"Later." Was the reply.

The guardhouse was an old stonework building, dwarven for having weathered so many years, brass lettering over the front porch 'Quis Separabit' - hencewhy guardsmen were known as 'Paras' by most of the city. It actually meant 'Who shall separate us?' - a rather fitting motto under Sergeant Kylon and his almost radical leadership of said guard that drastically lowered the death rates of the guardsmen.

It was the Sergeant that came out of the guardhouse, shined helmet under his arm with the green shield tabard over his chest that had the three starts banding the top and the sunburst in the middle. "Teyrn Loghain, word got to me that I should escort your group to the palace. The Queen wishes your presence - all of you."

"Warden-Constable Loghain is more fitting a title as of late." He responded without missing a beat. "And I can make my own way to the palace thank you very much."

Kylon's eyebrows rose up and his objection died on his tongue when Finna stepped forward. "Warden-Commander Dyrfinna, your assistance in navigating this city would be delightful but unnecessary at this time."

"Sergeant Kylon of the Denerim Guards." He nodded his head in a respectful manner. "And the Queen really did want me to escort you all to the palace."

"And I repeat, unnecessary at this time. By your leave Sergeant Kylon." Finna gave him a hard stare until the man relented and shook his head, returning to the guardhouse.

"Ouch, and here I thought I received a frosty welcome by our deadly goddess!" Zevran chuckled. "I do wonder - should we visit the famous dockside bordello called 'The Pearl'?"

"A bordello? What would that be?" Finna's brow furrowed and the burst of laughter from the rest of the group was rather raucous. Loghain fixed them with a glare. "You all laugh. Do not tell me then."

"A whorehouse, I did tell you no?" Zevran waggled his eyebrows. "My mother was a whore, a woman or even some men do too, who sells the favour of sex for coin."

The crinkle of her nose said it all. "Why?"

"Why not? It is an easy way to make ends meet when other means are barred to people - and as they say, it's a hard job but somebody has to do it!" The elf chuckled, his teeth bared as he threw his head back.

"If you wish to visit this 'bordello' then do so as discreetly and at a later time." Finna said quietly. "We should make our way to this palace forthwith."

* * *

Dyrfinna marvelled at the sheer size of the palace, to see a jutting tower of epic proportions almost piercing the sky. The whole city was at the base of a mountain - white-capped in snow, but to say that would assume it wasn't the size of... well the size was incredible. If she lived her she was sure she'd never be able to visit every place her Wardens had spoken of.

But the Warden Compound was close to the palace itself. She had ordered that Kornelius sort out the Joining for Zevran and Silmarwen, Alistair would take up the mantle of Senior Warden properly and oversee inducting the two elves. They would also find out if an investigation had been put in place for what had happened to Kornelius' troop.

Something didn't add up about him - surely one templar would have noticed someone hiding and stealing food and the drop in vermin population? As much as she disagreed with the templar viewpoint on shaman there would have to be a fair amount of intelligence needed to learn their techniques in battle. They could deplete a shaman of their magical energies.

Plus the templars found their presence quick enough.

Then getting more armour and robes sorted of course - they had a fair amount of Wardens in their own garb. It was a nightmare.

The guardsmen in red and gold heraldry lined almost like ornaments as Loghain and she walked the steps up to the main doors. A stiff-backed elf opened the doors from within and motioned his fingers over his shoulder for them to follow.

She glanced over at Loghain who looked incredibly bored at the antics about them. "Carruthers, could you stay with the Commander while I speak to my daughter?"

"Of course Ser, the Queen is in the private parlour - should I announce you?" The man said cordially, not turning to speak but keeping his brisk pace up the whole while. There was a noblesse and detachment about him she expected of his noble species, but his way of being so very... subservient that made her ponder just what role elves had carved for themselves in lowlander culture.

"I should think she'll know who I am. Or I'd hope so." Loghain remarked with a snorted laugh.

"Yes Ser, of course." Carruthers replied. Loghain rolled his eyes.

Eventually they came to the door and Carruthers called for her to stay behind. Loghain nodded at her before disappearing within, the door closing behind him.

"So you are an elf?" She leaned back onto the wall, wondering what would be happening within the private parlour that meant she wasn't invited straight away. She supposed Loghain hadn't seen his daughter in a longer time that she hadn't seen her son.

"I am, indeed - you noticed the ears first?" Carruthers smirked, mirroring her stance on the wall opposite, his arms crossed over his chest. His demeanour was much more relaxed now.

"I wished to know more about your noble species... the elves I have met have told tales that seem like the slavery my ancestors fought to free all people from still exists for so many." She sighed.

Carruthers looked shocked. "Your ancestors? I don't think I've met a human before that claimed to stand for elves in such an intimate respect."

"I am Avvar, my ancestors fought alongside Shartan to free elves, humans and indeed - all from the bondage of the Tevinters."

"One of the barbarians that lives in the mountains? Truly - hardly anyone even thinks your lot exist it's all shrouded in myth." The russet haired elf shrugged. "So you wish to know about the elves?"

"I would, you seem rather... candid."

"Then allow me to explain. Other than the Dalish which I know hardly enough about to say they're almost as mythical as you are, elves live in Alienages. They're sections of a city that are walled from the rest, filthy and most of the houses are in poor repair - not from lack of respect or laziness but a lack of help. My family shares a house with two other families in the Alienage because we need to meet the rent and there isn't enough space. I'm the only one with a job that could actually give enough coin to feed us more than the barest essentials though."

"That is horrid. How... how could that be allowed?" Dyrfinna pursed her lips, hoping her voice wouldn't crack. It sounded so much like Dust Town. Please - Korth please don't say they brand certain elves.

"I think we're mainly ignored. My sister is a whore you know, or she was - until a human got her pregnant and she died in labour. We have an orphanage run by the Chantry but nobody would adopt a half-elven baby and he died not too long ago. It's just a place where the lowest workers come from to most humans if I am as candid as you think I am. Personal skivvies, the workers that if a cart crushes their legs nobody bats an eyelid over." Carruthers picked a stray thread off his cuff, twirling it in his fingers to drop on the carpet.

"But most of us are a bit too proud to ask for human help, if humans think we're too lazy or pitiful to help ourselves it'd be an ongoing cycle. My house - it's one of the cleanest places you'll ever see. My wife scrubs the threshold until you could eat your dinner from it. This is despite the fact that refuse lines the streets until it clings to your boots and the stink even gets into the woodwork. The refuse collector comes through once a month and fills his cart up once before scurrying out as quick as possible, he charges double to elves because he can."

Dyrfinna was shocked into silence as Carruthers stopped for a bit of breath. "You really didn't know any of that did you? Maker's breath I almost didn't believe you about not knowing. I was going to say 'pull the other one it's got bells on it' but you most probably could get me done for flippancy and my pay would get cut."

"You could not be sure I was telling the truth - I understand I am rather odd in the fact I did not know though." She admitted it because it was the truth but that didn't make it easy. By the sounds of it this was just a fact of lowlander life - it happened and they were powerless against it. Just like the shaman and the casteless of Dust Town - hopefully Bhelen could do something about that but time and a lot of ruthless decisions would have to be made to change things. It would not happen in her lifetime.

"How about we talk about something not so heavy? Play a game to pass the time?" The elf sighed, brushing a hand through his short hair.

"If you would prefer - what game would be to your liking?" She hoped it wouldn't be something that was outside her knowledge. She was still boggling over the truth about elves - to learn a game would just be too much.

"I spy? You see an object and say 'I spy with my little eye something beginning with...' then the first letter of the word." He shrugged. "And that's right - I can spell. The Chantry sisters taught me, it's how I got this job."

"Is illiteracy something common for lowlanders?" She queried. "I mean... people in general."

"No, just elves really. Do you want me to start the game?"

"Go ahead."

"All righty - I spy with my little eye, something beginning with C." Dyrfinna followed his line of sight.

"Carpet."

"Damn, your turn then." He smiled weakly. So the aim of the game was to make it difficult to be guessed. Hmm...

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with T." She crossed her arms and smiled - that should be difficult enough.

"Breakfast." Carruthers smirked.

"What?" Dyrfinna startled, unsure why he'd said that.

"My breakfast always begins with tea. Then I have a porridge and sometimes an egg if the chickens laid enough." The elf grinned widely.

"I see no breakfast here... when I said it begins with 'T', I was talking about a letter." She sighed, still perplexed.

"The post is pretty infrequent but even then I don't pick up the Queen's correspondence until ten bells." The elf snorted, laughing silently but his head tipped back.

Dyrfinna rolled her eyes, realising that Carruthers was having a jest on her behalf. "Fine, it was tunic by the way. How about something else seeing as that was laudable to you. Your turn?"

"Oh no, I never guessed it - it's still you." Carruthers gestured over at her, still grinning.

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with... R."

"Army." He batted his eyelids, smiling as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"For Korth's sake, Carruthers. Army starts with an 'A'. Something that starts with an "R". Rrrrrrr." He was really getting on her nerves - how... why?

"Mabari." The elf smirked, slumping forward and gasping for breaths between shaking, silent laughter.

"What?" Dyrfinna's eyebrows rose up, unable to believe what in the Void was going on.

"Mabari wake up with a Rrrrrr." Carruthers almost spluttered, wiping the back of his mouth with his cuff.

"The word was ring as in your ring on your finger. I suppose my turn again then?"

"Of course Warden!" Carruthers straightened up, schooling his face neutral.

"What starts with 'Come here' and ends in 'Ow'?"

He put a hand to his chin and looked pensive. "I haven't the foggiest."

"Come here." She arched a finger and the elf stepped forward, still smirking. She pinched him on the arm.

"Ow!" He grumbled, rubbing his arm. "I deserved that - I know I did."

"Not for being and elf but for being flippant." Dyrfinna scolded.

The door opened and they both straightened up at seeing Loghain in the door frame. "If you could come in now?" He said toward her.

"Did you need anything Ser?" Carruthers asked, his cordial, polite face back on.

"Nothing else." Loghain waved her in and the elf bowed, going about whatever he worked as here. "He didn't give you a good ribbing did he?" He said as soon as the door closed.

"Only a little?" She shrugged.

"I nearly knocked the Blighter out when he did it to me." Loghain shook his head, pursing his lips. "So... Finna, this is Anora."

* * *

Loghain left Finna and Carruthers in the hall and looked over the parlour - lavish enough for Anora's tastes and that damned ticking clock on the wall. Thank the Maker for small favours that she'd finally taken it out of his study in Gwaren.

His daughter was at the desk, her hair coiffed into two braids and bound tight into dual buns - not a hair out of place, her back straight and her quill scratching across the vellum she was writing on. "Just take a seat, help yourself to a biscuit, I shall be with you in but a moment." She called out, almost tiredly if he was any judge.

"Is that any way to greet your father?" He said amusedly, a wry smile pulling at his lips. Anora spun on the swivelling wooden chair with a creak and rushed over to him.

He caught her. "Oh I do wish you'd stop wearing your armour about the palace." She grumbled, releasing him. "And don't you look well father. I heard a rumour about joining the Grey Wardens of all the preposterous things including your turning into a dragon and barbecuing the darkspawn back where they came from."

"I am a Warden now Anora." He sighed, backing into one of the plush seats and helping himself to the ginger oat biscuits laid out on a typically frilly looking plate. Maker - he was in a woman's domain for certain. He finished off the biscuit before continuing on his line of thought, Anora sitting opposite him on another of the high-backed plush chairs with her face in a very neutral state of confusion. "I was tainted. As for the dragon you know what people say."

"I do. So... the Grey Wardens, have they made you an Orlesian sympathiser and turned you into the scourge of the darkspawn yet or are you still cursing and butchering whomever stands in your way?" Anora's sense of humour was most probably inherited from himself, the worst luck in his opinion.

"Oh stop being a sourpuss and tell me what you've done these past months then. You must be dying to tell me, you have a story-telling look in your eyes." She shook her head, a small smile on her lips.

"Since when did I get a story-telling look in my eyes? Never happened before. Truth be told I'd rather know what's been happening here. What's Cauthrien doing with the damned army?" Loghain sighed, reaching for another of the biscuits - damned Warden hunger. Those biscuits wouldn't be safe.

"In good time. Now don't make me remove the biscuits, I expect a full report." Anora pursed her lips, oddly happy to see him for some reason or other. Damn it if he knew why, someone of his disposition didn't generally make friends with anyone and yet his own daughter liked him well enough as both friend and father. She still picked up the frilly plate and placed it on her lap so if he'd wanted to grab another he'd have to lunge for it.

"I was tainted, put under the wings of the new Commander, a mage called Lucien. We had some treaties of support from some factions about Ferelden in the event of a Blight. We went to Orzammar, crowned a King after going into the deep roads and seeing horrors that I will never tell you about. Lucien died down there." He paused a moment, wondering if any of that would mean anything at all to her. She didn't need to know about it. "The new Commander was appointed - an Avvar woman called Dyrfinna." It still felt odd calling the woman by her full name. "We found her clan in the Frostback Mountains." He sighed, taking a breath.

"And, you seem troubled about that?" She questioned.

"Orlesians, we gathered it wasn't the first attack on the Avvars that hide in those mountains but a scrap of vellum said it was in the name of the Chantry of all things. I think it's just trying to get a foot into Ferelden again - taking it slowly, a yard at a time almost and you know full well you could hide an army in the hills - you could hide a nation in those mountains."

"I see. I fear then that you should hate something that happened in your absence. Do continue and I'll tell you at the end father." Anora looked distracted, like she was rather annoyed at something or perhaps someone... or disappointed.

"What happened?"

"I told you - at the end. Now please - continue." She snapped, looking away and taking a long calming breath.

"Very well. We thought to go to Denerim and find out why the boarders weren't secured, we had treaties for the aide of the mages of Kinloch Hold as well. Stopped an uprising of blood mages there... got waylaid again once we carried onto Denerim - this time at Aeonar prison to rescue some friend of an elf we picked up at the circle. Found a Warden in there who helped the others escape back out. And now, I happen to be in a parlour speaking to my daughter."

Anora glanced sideways at him. "Very succinct then. I fear you should get rather angry then at what I should tell you."

"At who?" Loghain asked, trying to not sound 'rather angry' already.

"They brought back Cailan's lockbox from Ostagar... it had some evidence within that he had been in correspondence with Empress Celene."

"I know, he wanted the chevaliers at Ostagar."

"Not just that father. He was to divorce me upon grounds of being barren and to marry..." Anora trailed off, closing her eyes and taking a calming breath. "Celene herself. Arl Eamon had letters within there imploring him since Dragon 9:27 that I was nearing my thirtieth year and unsuitable for being his Queen."

Loghain grit his teeth. "Thirty? Since I last checked you were twenty-six, you were twenty-three then... that bastard!" He took a deep breath. "And I suppose he was in league with this marriage to that bitch Celene?"

"I do not know, only that there was a letter that you would describe as overtly familiar between Cailan and Celene within the box. As well as Maric's sword." Anora slumped, as if the information itself was too much to have said even to her father. "The nobility is up in arms about a commoner seizing the throne, Arl Eamon himself declared there is a Theirin heir that he has not produced due to the boy having gone missing from where he last placed him, the north is in chaos and from what I gather the Cousland family is dead but for their sons, the younger son appealing night and day with stronger arguments by the hour that Rendon Howe was the perpetrator of the massacre and should be hung and the elder leading the war front against the Amaranthine forces."

Loghain sucked in a deep breath. "And what does Howe say?"

"He tells me yet brings no evidence that they were in league with the Orlesians, that proof enough is that their eldest married the to quote 'spawn of a drunken Antivan merchant and a ruddy fishwife'. I have been unable to dedicate time either way but he has declared himself Teyrn of Highever as well as Arl of Denerim due to the Kendalls family having been ended too. He takes claim as 'rightful bloodline' for the secondary Arling and Highever presumably due to the long history of Couslands and Howes intermarrying. He declared a price on the heads of both Couslands."

"And my army?" Loghain finally sighed.

"In West Hills. The darkspawn emerged from the deep roads there and Arl Whulff was overwhelmed quickly. It took the whole army to batter them back but both of his sons have been killed in the darkspawn attacks. Ferelden seams to have been falling apart at the seems in your absence father." Anora gulped. "Then to top it all off I have griffons landing in the marketplace with tattooed barbarians demanding to see the Warden-Commander. I assume the same you spoke of earlier?"

"Any names or are they simply invisible now - the market looked remarkably griffon-free upon last inspection." He said dryly.

"None, they would speak to the Warden-Commander only." Anora sighed. "I had Kylon inform them to head to the top of Fort Drakon and they've been remarkably well behaved up there."

"Then before any other rumours reach you and I travel in the august company of a dwarf more liquor than man who would tell you in a heartbeat should he ever meet you, the Warden-Commander and I." Loghain couldn't say it aloud. How to tell one's daughter one is having a relationship with a woman not moments ago mentioned in an off-handed remark as a barbarian. "He called it bucking the midnight bronto?"

"I see. Would she find meeting with me odd or difficult?" Anora tilted her head inquisitively.

"I shouldn't think so, her culture is a bit different to our own and I've already met two previous husbands of hers and her son who took an immediate shine to me." He scratched his head about that one, the lad was quite taken with the idea of him being 'the dragon warrior'.

"I believe Mother Ailis once gave Cailan and I a lesson about cultures the explorer brothers encountered. I... am I right to understand they marry for a certain amount of years before picking another mate?" She creased her brow but seemed brighter for not discussing the warring nation.

"That would be the case." Loghain nodded.

"And you intend to marry this woman?" Anora questioned. Loghain looked at her as if she'd just started speaking in tongues and then turned into a purple haired abomination.

"No. Not in our culture or hers - not that you'll put your dainty little shoes in and do anything about it. How about we actually get on with having you meet her first?" He sighed. His daughter put the plate of biscuits back down on the table and straightened out her skirts for some unknown-woman reason before he got up to go to the door.

He opened it and was met with the sight of an elf rubbing his arm and Finna looking flustered. Maker's breath - you couldn't leave anyone alone for five minutes. "If you could come in now?" He said pointedly to the flustered Avvar woman who'd straightened out like a child reprimanded, as well as Carruthers.

"Did you need anything Ser?" Carruthers asked, his impeccable manners back on like a new suit.

"Nothing else." Loghain waved her in and the elf bowed, going about his duties as butler. "He didn't give you a good ribbing did he?" He asked as soon as the door closed.

"Only a little?" Finna shrugged, her armour clanking.

"I nearly knocked the Blighter out when he did it to me." Loghain shook his head, pursing his lips. "So... Finna, this is Anora."

* * *

Dyrfinna narrowed her eyes at Loghain for introducing her as 'Finna' to his daughter but quickly bowed her head in respect as she had for King Cailan so long ago at Ostagar. "Commander Dyrfinna but you may call me Dyr if you find it easier." She uttered.

She took in the form of the Queen, a strong posture, the same icy blue eyes as her father but hair the colour of pale gold - she wore a tight clincher around her waist and an dress of embroidered black. In mourning she noted as Loghain had told her that Anora would likely be.

"Queen Anora, although Anora would suit me fine given the circumstances no? Do sit down. Father can stand as he finds it easier when ladies are present and seats lack. Would you care for a biscuit?"

An ornate plate with golden edging was pushed toward the vacant seat next to the table and Dyrfinna sat, glancing at Loghain and his carefully schooled expression. "Thank you. I trust most matters were spoken of?"

"Indeed, I have a some matters that concerns you personally but they can wait a moment. I ask first and wish a truthful answer - is this indeed a Blight?"

Dyrfinna took a deep breath. "Had I not seen the Archdemon myself and had the Tevinter Old God visit in darkspawn induced nightmares that all Wardens have I would have not known. But yes - this is a Blight."

"I see. Then I shall get couriers sent to the Free Marches, Nevarra and Antiva as they are closest for them to send Wardens only in aide. I only hope history repeats in the fact that Blights are slow to start and can take many years to overwhelm a country." Anora reached forward and poured a tea into a dainty cup, picking it up by the saucer and taking a sip before placing it back down and spooning a level of sugar in, stirring it with a ting on the side.

"These personal matters?" She asked, hoping against hope that Loghain wasn't feeling as odd as she did. Erlend had children before their marriage - some older than she and had two since with Heidi so she knew this feeling. But this was odd in a way she'd not known before.

"Yes. Griffons arrived not two weeks ago in the marketplace with riders demanding to speak to and only to the Warden-Commander." Anora looked out of the window at the tall stone tower. "They are at the top of Fort Drakon and have been very cordial but I see no need in delaying what message they bring. I had always been informed that griffons were not only extinct but had never been introduced to Ferelden. Their appetite for rabbit and such has kept the countryside free from the pests. Farmers would be rather disappointed should they leave."

"I have ridden a griffon, if you would like I could have one of them saddled for two and I could take you into the air should your father allow it. I understand he is fairly... protective of you." Dyrfinna glanced upwards to see Loghain looking strained about letting her and his daughter into the air.

"I would likely not enjoy such things but the offer is most kind of you Dyrfinna." Anora looked toward her father who looked almost relieved now. "The second matter is about the relationship between my father and yourself."

"Never one to mince words." Loghain commented.

"No need to." Anora responded to him. "But I do need to understand your intentions of course."

"Since when did you become my handler?" Loghain snorted affectionately.

"I have no desire to enforce any of my culture's traditions upon your father as he does not intend to enforce yours upon myself." Dyrfinna said evenly. "I... care a great deal for Loghain."

"That is good to hear." Anora smiled briefly at her. "I think my father does for you too if the very protective stance he has over you at this moment as if I were a harpy to rip you into shreds were any guess."

"Anora!" Loghain's mouth hung agape for a moment before it promptly shut.

"Father, I understand that you're only a man, not some perfect legend and you're more than entitled to find someone to share your life with and how you do is none of my concern but I do ask that should this be serious that even a farcical ceremony in a Chantry be performed. As Queen I have more than a few willing to dispose me."

"About that." Loghain started. "The Theirin heir that Eamon declared - is a Grey Warden and unable to take the throne for the same reasons I can't be Teyrn of Gwaren any longer as well as - another reason I assume it would be unwise to mention due to it being a Warden secret." The last bit was said with a touch of malice about it but not directed to anyone.

"Would he declare as much to the Landsmeet in two months time?" Anora asked.

"He would. He does not desire the throne and we saw no reason to dispose of yourself." Dyrfinna stated. "Alistair is a good man, prone to placing his boots upon the wrong feet and making terrible jokes and stew but he is not leader material even within the Grey Wardens, he would not be suited to ruling a country." And that was putting it lightly. At one point it had been suggested about her clan that upon the death of her mother she would take mantle as Thane and that wasn't nearly as many people as Denerim alone had. The thought of placing someone less apt at leading anything than herself, as she would never comprehend the sheer size of Denerim let alone the other places in Ferelden, was entirely laudable to her.

"I see, that should strengthen my position somewhat." Anora sighed. "But I still face the nobility looking down upon their Queen for her birth and that will not do."

"May I make a suggestion?" Dyrfinna asked.

"Go ahead, it wouldn't be the first time anyone tried to make the nobility see reason." Anora picked up her teacup and took a long drink. Dyrfinna looked up to see Loghain with a furrow in his brow - well she'd already started. Here went ruining the meeting.

"In my clan when a marriage ends or the spouse dies there is a period of mourning that we take before taking another spouse. If they wish you to solidify your claim to be where you are have an advantageous marriage with an eligible member of this nobility you seek to appease and have child with them." Loghain's jaw had dropped but his mouth remained closed and Anora looked over the rim of her teacup before setting it down.

"It may be seen as callous so soon after Cailan's death and should the Couslands win in the civil war they might enact the Rite of Succession." She looked to mull it over. "Perhaps if one of the Couslands could be persuaded this is part of their duty to Ferelden and time is given before such an alliance. We could end this civil war and solidify my claim upon the throne at the same time."

Dyrfinna didn't know who Anora spoke of but Loghain looked down at her a mouthed a 'sorry' which she knew meant he had already thought she'd messed up what impression his daughter may have made of her. She smiled back. "I am not in a position to share the ruling, I ruled in matters for the past five years in stead of Cailan when he was more figure-head to our partnership. The younger Cousland - Richard would be more apt as a person I could speak to on an more equal level and the elder - Fergus has recently lost both wife and son due to Rendon Howe. I would have to take a side in this civil war and get Howe himself removed... and that may require blood shed which is a resource we cannot lose during a Blight when every soldier could be vital."

"Then I could." Dyrfinna blurted. The Queen turned her icy-blue eyes at her just like Loghain would when she said something without thinking. "I mean, if it stabilises the country so the darkspawn do not overwhelm us, I understand Wardens will do as they must. What is this man but a thorn in the side of a country that needs to be strong against the darkspawn?"

"I have heard rumours Dyrfinna that Howe has in his employ and at his side a man by the name of Caladrius who has petitioned me on numerous occassions about sending... I hate to say it but elven workers to the Tevinter Imperium."

She sat there and thought about it for possibly half a second. "I would hate to get Tevinter on me. But as my ancestors did - I shall too."

Anora laughed briefly at that, a chiming almost musical laugh. "I suppose it takes a person willing to do such things as willingly go against a suspected blood mage to ensnare my father. Oh don't look at me like that - you wouldn't have even said anything if you weren't serious."

"The templars didn't even go after Howe or his pet blood mage?" Loghain asked, trying to change the subject.

"Given enough coin they turn a blind eye." Anora shrugged and rolled her eyes. There was a knock at the door and Carruthers stepped sharply in, without missing a beat, bowing.

"Lord Cousland wishes your time again your Majesty - should I ask he returns to his current accomodations or that you wish to speak with him." The elf looked up before standing straight again.

"Send him in. Father, Dyrfinna - I trust you have other matters to see to, the griffons, your own Wardens or even Howe being important for the moment being? Before you go, Erlina wished to speak urgently with me and as Arl of Denerim Howe has been mistreating the elves including a woman that Erlina is... familiar with. If you go after him then your best bet is to speak with the elves first as there is much resentment for him there." Anora gestured them out and they passed a tall red-haired man with goatee beard and dark green eyes, his clothes fine and in his hands a wad of vellum.

Carruthers motioned the man in behind them, shut the door and swiftly walked past the two Wardens. Loghain glanced sideways at her and she at him. "The Queen likes me then?"

"For some reason she trusts my judgement." Loghain shook his head.


	28. Denerim Fried Chicken

Author note: Reaver. H thinks he smells Tabris on the horizon. Tis a possibility I give you all that, and I did mention at some point all Origins will be present in some form. I pose to him however - has Tabris already been seen? Or seen and not mentioned by name? Or even seen and surname not mentioned?

Your reviews for the last chapter really made me smile everyone - all your reviews do and I try to respond to all of them but if I don't PM me and complain!

And I'm sorry in advance! It had to happen and please don't stone me! I mean that - no killing the author!

* * *

Kornelius taught the binding spell for the Joining ritual to Bethany. Why former-Constable, former-Commander Lucien hadn't boggled his mind. But from the gist of it they knew all the upsides and downsides to being a Grey Warden also. At least the other mage had done that.

To say both the elves looked nervous would be an understatement, both with ears drooped down and if he looked closely Silmarwen was flexing her fingers, Zevran fingering the hilt of his dagger on his belt.

Alistair had done a sterling job of reciting the words to the ritual and he held the chalice in stead of the new Commander.

"Zevran Arainai, step forward." Kornelius looked around as Zevran stepped up.

"Alas, the price of my continued life no?" The tanned elf held the silver chalice almost without wavering. "I suppose you couldn't just pretend I am a Grey Warden if I promise not to say a word? No... Braska, what a shame." He shrugged and lifted the vessel to his lips, taking a swallow of the blood. "Argh, what poison you all make me drink..."

The elf's eyes widened and he thrust the chalice back to Alistair before he put his hands to his throat, gasping for air like no tomorrow. Zevran dropped to his knees then slumped forward, hitting his head on the carpet, convulsing.

"Fuck me... what's in that?" Silmarwen gasped, Kornelius looked over at the elf in green robes, her unnaturally green eyes comically wide.

"Darkspawn blood, preserved Archdemon blood, lyrium and a touch of homemade magic to give it a kick." Kornelius knelt down and put two fingers under Zevran's chin, pushing deep into his veins up his throat. "He didn't make it. Always a shame to see but a price of becoming as a Warden."

"Silmarwen Surana, step forward." Alistair croaked.

The very green elf took a resolute step forward, her mouth twisted into a frown as she took the chalice from Alistair's hands. "What's stopping me from breaking out the lightning and running?" She laughed shakily.

"Two powerful mages, a drunk dwarf and a few swords." Kornelius answered her. This was technically only the second Joining he'd taken part in. He remembered the white haired Tamarel and the two unfortunate recruits that had fallen alongside the archer elf - other than that it was his own Joining.

"Ah, only one way out then." She sighed deeply and looked down at the bloody mixture in the chalice. "Does it have to smell as bad as it sounds?"

"It tastes worse." Carver grimaced. "But we've all gone through with it - just try not to let it linger in your mouth."

"Not as bad as Alistair's sodding stew." Oghren grunted.

"Got it. Here goes nothing then? I hope... I suppose I'd already been given the option of walking away..." Silmarwen tipped the chalice back, gulping thickly, her angular face screwing up. "Bleugh!"

She promptly laid down. "What in the Maker's name are you doing?" Bethany asked. The elf didn't respond as the tremors took her. That was fairly sensible, the bruise he had on his forehead from cracking on a table was mottled for a week after his Joining.

Her eyes flicked open ghostly, blank white and a gurgled scream burst from her lips, thrashing about on the floor. Bethany crouched down and felt for her pulse. "She lives. Well... only one burning then... where does that happen in a city?" Her tone was almost defeated.

"The furnace in the basement." Alistair picked up the cooling corpse of the Antivan elf, holding him awkwardly over his shoulder. "Leliana, Carver and Kornelius? Do you want to help me... see to Zevran?"

"I'll induct Silmarwen into what we know about our order then, and sort out some robes for her and Kornelius from the wardrobes. Oghren, could you help me prop her up?" Bethany sighed.

"Sure thing sparklefingers." Oghren grinned. Kornelius left with the others to the furnace in the basement. Burning flesh was something he was used to the smell of - especially in Aeonar. He shuddered at the thought of the prison and his luck in escaping.

* * *

Dyrfinna followed Loghain up the twisting steps all the way up the tower that pierced the sky - Fort Drakon. It was Tevinter make, she could see the resemblance in some ways to Ostagar and the tower there that had been lit for Loghain's charge.

But it was much larger. The errant thought on how this was the Imperium's way of showing their power before the Avvar pushed them back to Minrathous crossed her mind and it left her unsettled as they continued the climb.

They passed through what looked to be an army barracks at the base of it, followed by cells lined with thick iron and steel bars and finally storage rooms before they could smell the sea air as they reached the roof. It might have been an idea to remove their heavier plating before starting the climb.

"Korth's greetings sister!" The man in shaman robes and woven poncho, leather strapping to hold brown furs around his middle for warmth, jumped off the back of the great feathered beast, dropping his brush for grooming the griffon on the floor as he walked quickly over. He had the traditional Sigfrost banding in white across his right cheek and long blond hair, neat beard and twinkling brown eyes, he bowed his head to her. "Kell Ar Malena O Hundsnes, shaman Jarl of Griffon Hold."

Dyrfinna bowed her head in respect. "Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar, daughter of Thane Nikolina of Phoenix Hold and Warden-Commander of Ferelden. How many griffons have been brought for the Grey Wardens?" She had no idea that Griffon Hold was so small as to have only a Jarl rather than Thane or Thane and Jarl.

He smiled then looked over to see Loghain. "I said I would not speak with lowlanders present." He said stiffly, eyes not once leaving the warrior.

"Loghain, the dragon warrior - is a Grey Warden. The Avvar would do well to hold our order in respect for holding back the Tevinter plague of darkspawn." She snapped to the shaman Jarl, crossing her arms. His brow furrowed before a look of acceptance crossed his face.

"Of course." He ground out, eyes turning back to her. "Apologies sister. The others of Wyvern Hold and the nomadic Grjota clan may deign to even speak to you whilst in company of a lowlander though, the Grjota especially, they have had a bad history with being attacked by lowlanders."

He looked back at a black haired man tending to an equally black griffon, sighing before he continued his train of thought - he wore the leather band of a Thane around his head but was not muscled as a warrior but perhaps an archer. "Thane Nikolina explained the situation faced to us and our warriors have moved to the boarder between Ferelden and Orlais to protect from more of the painted lowlander attack. The spirit walker Lowenna An Elsa has spoken in dreams to her father who travels with the warriors to relay information and as of yet no more attacks have been forthcoming as the ancient boarder wards have been fixed."

"Spirit walker?" Loghain asked.

"Like Mahariel of the children of Shartan." She was not going to mention that Mahariel was also Tevinter. Loghain hmm'ed to that. "I had not known Lowenna was a spirit walker however. That is providence to our people, will Wyvern Hold..."

"The Oss clan will take her in to proper train the girl. But I have brought twenty griffons of mature riding age, each tamed by my clan. The wild griffons will be tamed soon enough for ten more to arrive." Kell turned back and clicked his tongue. The grey griffon he had been sat atop to brush him bowed his head low and the shaman brushed his hand reverently on his sharp yellow beak, from hooked end up to the feathered brow over large, round yellow-brown eyes. "We do not name them but they will respond to clicked tongues."

"Dyrfinna!" The woman called looked up to see a pale grey griffon circle down to the tower, the rush of air from great wings brushing her hair back. The rider unclipped her harness. The pale grey griffon angled a wing down and the rider slid off down the muscular wing, rushing over in a blur of gingery blonde hair and white fur coat, her crescent moon staff swinging with wild abandon in her sling on her back.

"Lowenna!" Dyrfinna grabbed the girl of six winters, swinging her around a bit. Her freckled cheeks were flush from the riding of the griffon and her grin wide. "You look so hale!"

"And you too elder." Lowenna giggled, straightening out with the self-importance of one who was young and knew everything. "Would I be able to speak to Warden Bethany? I have to show her my healing aura!"

"Another time young one, my Wardens are somewhat busy for the time being. The griffon you rode was remarkably well mannered - would I be able to ride him also with Loghain?" She asked, glad to see the young girl with her cheeks pink from the cold winds this far up.

Lowenna grabbed her hand and clicked her tongue as she pulled her along. The pale griffon turned his bird-like head, massive talons scraping on the stone floor as he ambled over - for as graceful as the creatures were in the air their walk upon the ground was somewhat awkward, their size being one issue and their large wings used to balance them precariously - they were not used to plateaus such as these to walk upon and most were sat with their hindlegs tucked beneath them.

"I can't actually believe this." Dyrfinna looked behind her at Loghain, smiling at the genuine fascination on his face and in his low, gravelled voice. "Such a noble creature and we're going to ride on one."

"Since you do not know the proper signals yet on steering a griffon you will learn them as we ride." She said, patting the muscled feathers of the shoulder. The griffon nuzzled his great head affectionately at the side of her head, oily, soft feathers brushing her skin. It purred softly, low enough to be heard only by herself. "Come, gain his trust as I have."

She backed off and gestured for Loghain to do as she did, smiling at him. This was something new for him - and for some reason even the taciturn man looked like a war of anxiety and excitement were playing on his features.

* * *

Loghain could feel the eyes of twenty-one Avvars on him. Nineteen of which he knew were judging him, Lowenna and Finna both watching him with some sort of affection. The skinny girl beamed a smile worthy of winning a competition of sorts and grabbed his hand.

"Just stroke his shoulder or the fluffy feathers of his chest. If he thinks you worthy he will nuzzle you Loghain." The girl said, guiding him forward. Loghain's metal and leather gauntlets touched to the downy feathers of his chest, Lowenna let go and he found himself rooted to the spot as the pale grey griffon turned the fearsome beak toward him.

A hot snort ran across his shoulder, brushing his hair back as the beak got closer until it purred. The damned thing purred.

A bristly, black, triangluar tongue came out and swiped up his face - not wet but scratching lightly. It purred again and he looked at the magnificent beast almost nose to beak. Those yellowed brown eyes blinked once.

"He likes you! Could you hear his purring?" Finna stepped up closer to him, the warm taint between them like a tether that expanded and contracted, she ran a hand up the griffon's beak, gauntlet off. The griffon purred.

"He seems quite well disposed to you too." The corner of his mouth curled up, seeing Finna around her people and the griffons always made her seem so happy and it always made him hurt just a bit to think she had to be parted from them.

"I happen to be a lovely person, brimming with the virtues that griffons find attractive." She laughed, the sound of it was almost musical to his ears and he wanted nothing more than to kiss that exposed throat as she threw her head back.

The tug at his britches made him turn and there was a beak in his pocket! The damned giant cross between a mountain cat and bird was nicking the scraps from his pocket! "Out of there you scavenger." He chided softly, guiding the great head out with his hand splayed under his beak at the join of feathers to said beak.

"Your pockets attract all the animals." Finna giggled. He smirked amusedly at her.

"You're just jealous because you don't fill your pockets with scraps."

Her mouth parted. "Loghain Mac Tir cracks something humorous. I wish I could save this memory in a locket just to amuse myself!"

"Are we going to ride this damned creature or stand here?" Loghain asked, sighing. He looked around to see most people had looked away from them by now, tending to the griffons, some cleaning out talons, others saddling them up.

Finna shrugged and walked around the huge beast, pulling a rope ladder down from above her and putting her foot in like a stirrup. She climbed up and swung her leg over into the heaped, cured leather that was the saddle, lifting the reins with one hand, the other out for him to hold onto in his own ascent.

He took the hand and climbed as she did, swinging over to sit on the seat just behind her. "Where am I supposed to hold?"

"One moment." Finna reached down and he hadn't even noticed that Lowenna had run off and was bringing back a huge harness of sorts. Two harnesses. She took them off the girl who then skipped off to talk to the man they'd been talking to first. "Put this on and just in front of you will be a clip, clip it together and we shan't fall off."

"I feel so safe." Loghain snarked, the leather harness slipped on like a jacket from behind, a metal clip at the front with a lead of sorts that clipped down exactly where Finna had said.

"You can hold me if you wish." Finna chuckled. Loghain struggled to think of a reason not to. One, they were high up and away from a lot of people. Two, if he admitted it he wanted to hold her, there wasn't a bad thing about it. "But make sure you watch me steering the griffon, especially when landing and lift off."

Loghain slipped forward on the leather saddle and snaked his arms around her waist. It was like those twenty pairs of eyes suddenly looked back toward them and she watched as Finna dug her knees forward into the shoulders of the beast. The griffon started gamboling forward and he'd never been so thankful for the harness as the time the griffon launched itself off the edge of the tower.

His stomach was flipping and his heart was thumping in his throat. Unwittingly, he held tighter to Finna as he lifted off the saddle, the clip tethering him down. Then the griffon beat it's great wings twice, levelling out before soaring up.

The wind whipped cold on his cheeks, Finna's hair in his immediate line of sight. Loghain looked around at the distant buildings below them - the sight was incredible, the smoke rising from chimneys, the great rooftops of the palace... the people themselves became blurred bees in a hive.

The griffon let out an ear-piercing squall, it's great wings beating into a tattoo as it glided about the winds like it was born in them.

"Did you like that!" Finna yelled back at him through the winds.

"More than jumping into a frozen lake!" He shouted back. Finna laughed - he wasn't amused and took to focussing on the little movements she did, from the pulling on the reins to the digging of left knee to right knee - steering the griffon in the air.

To think if someone asked him a year ago the hypothetical - 'Can you imagine flying on a griffon over Denerim, holding tight to a damned Avvar woman who you've come to love?' - he'd have called them off their rocker and seen about having them put in an asylum. What a world, he'd always thought he'd seen it all then things like this bounded into your life.

Wait a moment... he'd told her he loved her once - after... well. But he wasn't sure yet, it was a bit of a within the moment blurt from his mouth.

But he loved her! Maker's breath he loved the woman in his arms and guiding the griffon down!

His stomach and heart both went up into his throat as they plummeted downwards, the top of Fort Drakon getting closer with every crash of his pulse in his ears. Loghain could almost taste his breakfast again when the griffon changed angle to skate it's talons along the stone.

The griffon squalled again as it halted and they both jolted forward in the dual saddle. Finna twisted around, her face flushed from the winds and the biggest teeth-baring grin on her face. "We should defeat the Archdemon within a second!" She sounded too happy to care.

"And how do you plan on that? Attacking with the longest sword in history?" He snarked.

"Spears and you can have a bow and arrows behind me or on your own griffon. Also... I can unclip and jump with a sword onto the Archdemon. Just imagine it!" The smile on her face was not the response he had from imagining Finna jumping off a griffon and onto a monster like the draconic Archdemon.

"Could we mount ballistae on them?" He thought aloud.

"Quite possibly - have we something we could work a prototype on? I reckon the carpenter over there could make a good try." Finna pointed over to a man sawing wood - for what he wasn't sure but he was going at it with gusto.

Loghain could have kissed her that moment. In fact - he did. Both their lips were cold but he could feel the heat on her cheeks. They parted quickly, aware of the eyes watching them. Loghain wasn't embarrassed but he wasn't sure if she was.

"I am not ashamed of loving a lowlander." Finna whispered to him, almost reading his thoughts. Loghain felt the warmth radiate in his chest at her words and she unclipped him from the saddle.

He noticed the wing was angled down for him to dismount but he had his reservations over slipping down the soft, oily feathers until Finna did so. If it could support a warrior like her, hopefully he wouldn't be such a burden as he slipped off the griffon.

His legs were like rubber as he stood on the ground once more. "Think I'll get used to this?" He grumbled at her, arching an eyebrow at the hardly affected Avvar woman.

"With time." She shrugged. "Let us return to our Wardens then, we can see how the Joining ritual went and plan on disposing of the Tevinter."

"I do hope that was an accident sister." His attention was drawn by the mage Kell approaching them, face like thunder.

"Not at all brother." Finna smirked at him. "We are largely wrong about a lot of lowlanders."

"They are barbarians." He levelled with her, brown eyes meeting stormily with her pale honey.

"They have honour and loyalty not unlike our own. Leave this conversation for another time Jarl." She ground out.

"Thane Nikolina will find this information interesting!" He called after the two retreating Wardens.

"Thane Nikolina can piss up a rope! My mother will be happy that I have found happiness where none was thought to be found!" Finna called back. He noticed she turned that dwarven insult of middle finger behind her as they walked.

"I love you." Loghain chuckled when they were safely out of sight from arrows and magic from being hurled toward them and inside the Fort once more.

"I do too you mad lowlander. How did you do it hmm?" She smiled over at him under the flickering sconce.

"Do what?"

"You revised my opinion of lowlanders, I just wish I knew how you did it." She chuckled, leaning forwards on the balls of her feet to kiss him lightly on the chin. As tall as she was he still towered over her.

Loghain tilted his head down and held her by the small of her back through the chainmail there. "I didn't - perhaps you became a barbarian too." He rumbled, their lips meeting softly.

"I can stand that." Finna giggled as they parted.

* * *

Silmarwen was wondering just what was so bad about being a Grey Warden. Nightmares were usual when you're a mage - demons are always trying to latch onto you. The infertility thing was no problem when mages got their children taken off of them by the templars. And thirty more years - she could live with that. It wasn't as if she expected a long life in Kinloch Hold. She'd have either gone mad with the imprisonment and begged for tranquillity or figured out how to scale the walls to the windows and fallen to her death.

Then there were the awesome new powers as she liked to think of them. She already felt healthier, she could feel the presences of the other Wardens and feeling darkspawn had to be pretty neat in not getting ambushed by the rotting bastards.

Then her pool of mana felt larger for sure - like she could cast for hours if she so wished.

Even her broken and mending arm felt better. Silmarwen took off her sling and stretched it out, marvelling at how it was fixed as if my powerful magic. From what she'd seen the Grey Wardens didn't spend too long on working out injuries, so perhaps they healed naturally quicker?

All in all it didn't sound like a bad trade for freedom. Nothing came for free so trading imprisonment where templars watched her every twitch of her fingers and even fellow apprentices and mages looked at her like she was the scum of Thedas for the Grey Wardens - people who didn't care about her being and elf and were happy for magic! It was so refreshing! But her stomach had never felt so empty!

Bethany and Oghren laughed at her outburst of - "Just get me something fucking edible before I gnaw my staff in two!"

It was a shame Zevran died, but people died all the time. Life wasn't an easy thing and nobody got out alive.

"Here, rinse yer mouth out." Oghren passed a surprisingly empty beard-flask to her and she took a mouthful and spat out whatever vile liquid was within. Silmarwen raked her nails on her tongue to the laughing of the dwarf. The evil dwarf...

"What is that... you tried to poison me! That's nastier than darkspawn blood!" She kept raking, narrowing her eyes at the dwarf that was heaving for breath between laughing fits.

"It can't be that bad." Bethany sighed, picking up the discarded flask, uncorking it and taking a swing. Her coppery eyes squeezed shut and she coughed after a quick swallow. "It certainly has a... kick!" She choked out.

"Kick ya right in the gnads!" Oghren chuckled, picking up the re-discarded flask and swallowing the lot. "Oh, just got all tingly - who'd ya reckon? Boss and Grumpy Pants or Pike-Twirler, Shabby, Hawkling and the Sister?"

Silmarwen could feel it too, like a warm tingle in the base of her spine getting closer like the warmth that had already settled into her veins like Bethany and Oghren both seemed to emit. If she was any judge she'd say two people. "Commander and Constable."

"Put ya money where yer mouth is Elfikins!" Oghren slapped her on the shoulder.

"No money but I'll make a salve for that... infection you have?" She countered, waggling her eyebrows and her earrings jangling softly as her ears lifted in amusement.

"Fine. But I don't have no infection. Bloody side-effect a that Joining, I'm sure of it." Oghren groused. And would you know it - but who should walk through the door looking and clanking like two warriors with the higher rank stripe on their chest plates. Commander Dyrfinna and Constable Loghain.

"I win! What do I win?" She pounded her fists in the air and laughed.

Oghren fumbled into his pocket and withdrew a grubby looking silver with a couple of coppers. "Beginners luck."

Silmarwen pocketed them quickly in the folds of her green robes. "Winning?" The Commander asked.

"Those two bet who was arriving by judging the taint sense." Bethany sighed. "Silmarwen won and Oghren lost."

"Zevran did not survive the Joining or is he already at the... whorehouse?" The Commander squinted. Bethany looked crestfallen and if she were elven Silmarwen was sure her ears would have drooped.

"He didn't make it. They're doing a ceremony and burning in the furnace downstairs." Bethany said sadly.

"Where's that archer bloke?" Silmarwen asked. She hadn't seen him, the dog or the witch since they came into the Warden Compound.

"I shall find Thorvald in time. For the moment we have a few matters to deal with. You are all free for the moment to eat, get the proper Warden robes and armours on, watch the dwarven clocks, by one bell in the afternoon I wish you all in the dining hall to discuss some tasks ahead us."

* * *

Thorvald sat in the roof garden, staring out at the midday sun in the winter, the smell of food thick in the air. Asgrim had scrambled up the stairs and the rooftop door to chase a fly of all things before just barking back and forth with another hound in the city.

The sounds of horse-pulled carriages and the din of shouting from below filled the air. The archer felt so out of place in this place. It was so large that he'd never felt so far away from the Odelia. He was the last of them now.

He glanced over to see the wilder shaman take off as a bird over the city. If he'd not been sure she found this as odd as him he'd have thought her at home in this place too.

But he couldn't settle. Nothing about lowlander life seemed to sit right with him until he just felt auxiliary to pretty much everything.

The horizon was filled over the towering buildings and smoke of chimneys with the vista of a great snow-capped mountain, a tower that punctured the sky with griffons squalling above and finally a sparkling grey-blue sea. He'd seen pictures of the sea before, their clan had once travelled north after one of their pilgrimages until they'd come to a cliff with the roar of waves crashing a foaming pattern on the lime.

It was the furthest down any mountain he'd gone other than to Orzammar before lowlander Chantry had taken the most of his clan. They'd become lost without Thane Josefina - they just kept on walking... the five of them with Asgrim.

They'd just walked to the lowlander army as they made their way south to Ostagar and without any idea on what to do - had joined them against the darkspawn.

The Odelia fought alongside Commander Duncan of the Grey Wardens when the Chasind had come running out of their wilds about the darkspawn invading their village of Lundar. They'd put down what they could and rescued Daveth.

It was a sad tale that he was the last of such a long line - as old as Ferelden and before Ferelden was named as such. The last. Now a Grey Warden.

An Avvar in Denerim. He shivered involuntarily.

Thorvald had never felt so Korth damned alone. It was as if Hakkon Wintersbreath was trying to test him. How much could one man go through before he broke? He could feel the warm presences below him of fellow Wardens moving about. "Hey, dinner is served, we got some chicken from a stall and we're pigging out. Thought you'd like to join us." It was Alistair.

Thorvald snorted a long breath, looking around him at the potted herbs and the pruned potted bushes. It felt so artificial. "What sort of chicken?" He asked, not really caring too much.

"Well, it's hot, covered in salt and pepper with breadcrumbs and there's about half a farm worth of drumsticks and wings. DFC, Denerim Fried Chicken. The owner of the stall had the funniest white hair and dwarven spectacles combination with this pristine white outfit. Seriously white clothes. I think he bathed in bleach but he certainly stood out and the smell... Maker's breath you better get down there or it'll be gone."

Thorvald chuckled at the long explanation. Perhaps it wasn't so bad when he had his fellow Wardens. Nothing was permanent in this life, he knew that. For the time being, from the sound of that chicken, the chicken wouldn't be a permanent thing of this world with his growling stomach. He got up from his crossed-legged position and followed the ex-templar back down the steps, patting his thigh for Asgrim.

The hound was already gone - the word chicken most probably.


	29. Ghosts, Plagues & The Deadly Tailor

Author note: So I'm actually terrible with naming characters and couldn't think of how to name my Tabris - and looked up a name generator for them.

I came across a celtic name generator and these names all came up: Vaughan, Gareth, Riordan, Bevin, Alistair, Bryce, Kinnon, Jowan, Owain, Rowan, Teagan, Eamon, Connor, Keenan, Morrigan, Isolde, Anora (Finna - oh yes, even that came up and spelt like that!), Sorcha, Caitlin, Quentin, Brennan, Donnic, Kelli, Greagoir, Moira, Ennis, Alyson, Meredith, Wynne, Bran, Morrigan... I think no co-incidence. I have stumbled upon the name generator used by David Gaider/Bioware/EA as all of these are characters that turn up or are mentioned at some point. Tis rather a scary concept.

Regardless - I have a name now for my Tabris so all is well. Oh - and Maric! I just clicked shuffle and got Maric!

You get your Tabris now - all the Origins are in this fic - only took me what... 150k words?

The Orphanage in the Alienae - tell me someone else thought what a harrowing thing it'd be for Loghain?

* * *

The Wardens couldn't decide whether armour and weapons for the fact they were going after a blood mage or plain clothes because they were going into the Alienage and being in full metal with sword and axes would just scare the elves.

They might not get any leads regardless.

In the end though, armour and weapons were chosen for the eventuality they would find the blood mage. Alistair, Bethany, Oghren and Leliana were staying behind at the Compound - without servants they were tasked with the more mundane things of living such as making beds and sorting out getting food and drink.

Loghain lead the way toward the Alienage and Dyrfinna couldn't help but think about what Carruthers had said about the walled off section of the city. It couldn't be that bad, it just couldn't. The dwarves had to be exceptional about the casteless dwarves. Lowlanders may have taken the treatment of shaman the wrong way simply for the fact that the Avvar had attacked them for their barbaric uses of magic in binding their Gods away and causing the Blights. But elves - they fought to free the elves!

The Alienage had one of the guardsmen in the same heraldry as Sergeant Kylon wore - the pale green tabard with a darker green shield emblazoned on it, the shield itself with three pale green stars banded across the top and a large sun in the middle. "Locked! What do you mean locked!" Loghain demanded of the guardsman who looked to pass out.

"Arl... I mean Teyrn Howe had an elven uprising and a plague on his hands! The knife-ears needed purging or there'd be chaos on the streets Ser! Only non-violent elves cleared of sickness are allowed in and out Ser!" The guard took a deep breath as if just by breathing he could ensure continued survival. Not with the look of pure murder in Silmarwen's eyes.

"Would you call me a fucking knife-ears?" The elf demanded, pushing forward in her new slightly too large Warden robes, her staff swaying in it's leather sling. The guard looked at the slim elven woman with the pierced ears, tying her hair back like she did before a fight - not that he would know that. He actually looked cowed, although he may have noticed the staff, or that she was a Grey Warden.

"Obviously not, I value my skin!" He harrumphed. Silmarwen growled and her right hand twitched. Dyrfinna put a hand to the elf's shoulder and drew her back.

"But Grey Wardens seem to be immune to poison and plague." As she had found out in a diary kept by Lucien that Bethany had found. "And we are more than capable of defending ourselves should anyone wish harm upon us so open those gates like a good man and we shan't report you to Sergeant Kylon."

The guard looked over at her, eyes wide as he took in her weaponry and posture. "And who are you, how would _you_ get my name?"

Dyrfinna leaned forward and picked up his tabard, turning it over to reveal a label within, neatly stitched a 'Leith Mac Claine'. She made the point of showing him that and stood back, arms crossed and her hip cocked to rest on the ball of her left foot. "Warden-Commander is all you need to know Guardsman Leith. And that I could have cut you down at that second and had the keys. So open those gates should you know what is best for you."

He looked like he was both constipated and incontinent at the same time as he turned about and unlocked the gates, a rusty creak letting them into the Alienage. The Warden group entered and Guardsman Leith shut them behind them.

* * *

Dyrfinna couldn't believe the ramshackle buildings that leaned into each other as if huddling for warmth, the windows just shutters that were open to reveal houses within that looked so bare and yet with that pride Carruthers had said about. Washing lines criss-crossed through the air as far up as two or three storeys, the lowermost looking the wettest from the dripping water from higher up lines.

What looked like it was theirs - was scrubbed. It looked like the houses themselves were kept clean if not for the poor condition of the housing. The elves - upon seeing them - fled within their houses if they could, others still sitting amongst the piled refuse in little more than rags, some of them picking it up around them in elaborate breakers from the elements.

A mother shouted at her bare-footed children to get inside, the door slamming as the Wardens passed. It smelled of the refuse, rotted inedible items. One elf ran out from a dark alleyway, pouncing into one of the piles with a net on a stick within a hoop. He put his bony hand at the top and lifted the net out, brown strings holding a squirming rat inside. He saw them then scampered back into the dark alleyway.

It was Dust Town but everything was visible. Asgrim huddled closer to her as they passed what looked to be the corpse of a hound picked clean of meat and discarded in the streets. "When I was caught by the templars they took me though here - looking for more apostates. I tried to think of it as a fever dream but their words always haunted me." Silmarwen didn't swear but her tone was a cross of anger and sadness. "This is what you'll be left to if you escape. Don't even think about it."

"You reside with us Silmarwen, elves are not due to live in such conditions. This is not right." Dyrfinna stated, eyes pricking with unshed tears. Her ancestors fought Tevinters to free everyone. The shaman were held in a new, religious bondage and the elves were kept in conditions none should live in. It was disgusting. Her ancestors fought almost for nought. Why even try to seek something better for people if it was wasted effort?

They came into a clearing, a great tree covered in red and white banded paste with tribal style markings and hung beads on the branches. It stood like a beacon, untouched by the surroundings. It was here they could see the elves in full force, man coughing blood and others weak on the floor, all huddling toward a human man in long robes, black feathers splayed on his shoulders. Dyrfinna narrowed her eyes at him, there were many styles of Tevinter robes she had been taught to identify if they ever sought to take Ferelden again. The Avvar always kept vigilant in the dreamland for their tainted nature - using spirit walkers like Lowenna to know. They bilious white robes like Mahariel and these feathered ones were obviously Tevinter.

"I can cure you all in time, just give me enough space to breathe!" He demanded. One of the elves that was not coughing but was standing resolute, fiery red hair in many braids and the skirts of her dress caked in mud up to the height of her knees shouted back.

"Stop lying shem! Where do our sick cousins go! Hmm? Elves like our Hahren! Like my Uncle Cyrion! Where are you taking them! None of them were even ill and they haven't been seen since you took them!" The elf blazed with her anger, standing out amongst the masses like a flame.

"Quit making trouble Shianni! My aunt came out just fine, so keep quiet!" Another elf shouted at her.

The fiery elf so called Shianni noticed the Grey Wardens and stomped over, her overly large boots catching on her muddied skirts. "More shems! You here to purge us or just pretend you're here to help?" She demanded, seething.

"We are Grey Wardens and do not seek to harm a single child of Shartan." Dyrfinna put her hands up to prove neither had a weapon within. Shianni squinted at her, as if thinking.

"Child of Shartan? Figures the shems would find out the only elven hero we can rally around."

"You forget Garahel, the elf that ended the Fourth Blight." Silmarwen stepped forward. "And if you'd calm down I could maybe talk to you."

Shianni glared at Silmarwen. "A servant, nice to see even the Grey Wardens hire elves." It was not a compliment but a hissing insult. Silmarwen growled.

"Fellow Warden actually." She hissed back.

"Senior Warden Silmarwen does not need to explain herself to anyone who is hostile toward her." Dyrfinna stepped between the elves that were fighting with glares and hissing growls. "We are here to gather information from the elves about a man named Howe and a Tevinter in his employ."

"And why would you do that?" Shianni spat.

"To kill them." Dyrfinna put it bluntly. "I have knowledge from the Queen herself there is an elf here that is familiar with a woman in her emplo-" She was cut off as Shianni grabbed her hand.

"Just follow me, don't say a word until we're safe - and just you. No-one else." Shianni whispered, dragging her along.

"Stay here. If I am more than an hour, follow." Dyrfinna said behind her to the flabbergasted Wardens. "Keep looking about for information."

Loghain looked torn but nodded firmly, as did Silmarwen, Thorvald, Carver, Kornelius and Morrigan shrugged her shoulders with a feline grace. Asgrim kept to her heels as she was pulled through the streets and into an alleyway, through a door and then in darkness for a while.

* * *

Shianni lit a candle, bidding the Grey Warden to sit down. Andraste's Arse she was being an idiot if she thought she could trust a shem in these matters. But what choice could she have - she was almost on her own now. Just her, Valora, Raighne and Nessiara because they got Soris too... damn them!

The Warden blinked in the dim, flickering light, the pungent tallow of the candle filled the small room and the Warden sat hesitantly on a stool. She'd never seen a shem look so righteous as this one had near the Vhenadahl, glaring at the so called 'healer' Teyrn Howe had sent them after the purge.

They were used to this oppression, it was sickening to see her fellow elves cowed by the prospect of a shem here to save them from this plague. They didn't need shem help - they needed a voice of their own. "So you brought me here?" The Warden didn't finish her sentence, glancing around at the bare furniture and the small carved deer she had on the mantle. A gift.

"I'm the woman." Shianni blurted before slamming a hand over her mouth. "I mean who are you? I can't very well do saying this sort of stuff to someone I can only call 'Warden'."

The Warden smiled briefly, blinking slowly as she stood up and went to the mantle, trailing a finger on the wooden deer with such reverence and curiosity that even Shianni couldn't shout at her to stop. "This is beautiful, I like to think even in places like this that the spirit of people cannot be crushed. This is like a symbol is it not? That-"

"That there is something worthy of notice within these darkened places where hope doesn't spring eternal. Erlina gave it to me." Shianni repeated the words of her lover and watched as the Warden moved away from the carved deer, sitting back down. "So your name?" She switched back out of the small reverie. The black dog was watching her with the same curiosity that the Warden had looked at the deer carving with.

"Warden-Commander Dyrfinna. I am an Avvar and we stood with the elf Shartan to help free your people from the slavery of the Tevinters. That this... this Alienage... all of this that I have been told of happened to your people. That humans use some horrid sense of superiority to even..." The Commander gulped, as if genuinely upset about what she's seen of the Alienage and everything else. "It is not right in any way."

"You wanted to know about Teyrn Howe and his mage?" Shianni sat down in the seat opposite the Commander, her eyes not leaving the warrior's form or the way those honey eyes swept over the room again and again, every time getting stuck at the deer. The dog came to the Commander and put his great head under her fingers, the woman rubbing idly behind his ears.

"As I stated, we heard that Teyrn Howe has been mistreating the elves here more than what is given as... usual - from what I have gathered. The Wardens are working for, an interested party - who wishes this Howe disposed of, and his Tevinter pet will need to be removed too." The Commander almost spat the word Tevinter, was hesitant over saying who they were working for. Shianni knew though. Erlina had sneaked in and said some Grey Wardens would come in, that they could be trusted. Despite this the Denerim elf was still wary of shems.

At this precise moment in time Shianni couldn't care who wanted Howe dead or the mage. They could both rot in the same Void they came from. "Give me a moment then Commander and I'll bring someone else who can explain everything that's happened." Shianni stood up, shivering and picking up a ratty shawl to hug around her shoulders. "Please don't steal anything. I don't have much and as pathetic as that sounds I can't lose what I have." Her ears drooped down at the admission. Dammit Shianni stop making the tattooed shem pity you. Pity doesn't help.

* * *

Dyrfinna sat awkwardly in the room alone until Shianni returned, a male elf brought back with her. "This is Raighne, he's one of the other few elves here who isn't afraid to speak out. My cousin."

The male elf was quite different to Shianni in appearance, his skin was darker by far, almost as dark as Duncan's swarthy skin and his hair was coal black, long down his back in a tidy plait. Even his eyes were dark, bright like beetle wings in the flickering light. His ears stood back in his hair, longer than his cousins and he looked like one of the shadiest people she'd ever seen. "Raighne Tabris, tailor by trade but I use a human to ply my work." He extended a bony hand, thumb callused from needlework and a golden band on one of his fingers.

"Warden-Commander Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Auonar." She shook his proffered hand firmly, surprised by the strength in his shake. "I am looking into-" She was cut off.

"I know. I'm here to tell you everything and hope you can see what's happening." The dark elf then launched into a tale as he sat down, his cousin holding onto his shoulder about his wedding day, assuring her that it was relevant.

His bride was from Highever and the large tree - the Vhenadahl - was decked in garlands of blue flowers. It was not only his wedding day but his cousin Soris' too. In the early morning of his wedding day a member of this nobility - the son of the previous Arl of Denerim, one Vaughan Kendalls had come into the Alienage and tried to harass the women - his cousin and the two brides mainly. Shianni had hit the man on the back of his head with an empty bottle of ale.

He'd dropped like a stone but not before his friends he travelled with swore to enact revenge. Raighne shook his head and tapped his fingers lightly on the wooden table.

When the time came for the wedding, the brides, Shianni and the bridesmaids were all captured by this Vaughan and his friends - taken back to the estate to be raped. Raighne and his cousin Soris had both been knocked out because they'd tried to fight back.

Realising without weaponry or any means to fight back they were powerless to get their women back they prayed that unlike so many that the women would be returned alive rather than dead. They were the next day, battered and bruised - hurt in the most horrid, depraved way possible by all three of the human men. Raighne set to work on his revenge.

His mentioning of his work as a tailor was important. He supplied most of the nobility in Denerim with their finery - not that they'd know it was elven made. He had a friend, a half-elf called Slim Couldry (the offspring of elves with any other species was the other species - be it human or dwarf. Slim was outwardly human and unlike so many half-blooded children was raised as an elf in the Alienage) who sold the garments to other humans - a business where they used what skills they could.

The revenge he took also used Shianni's knowledge of what plants would grow in the Alienage - away from sunlight and good soil. Deathroot and Andraste's Grace - when mixed and powdered it turned invisible on clothing. He made a fine shirt for Vaughan and had Soris go with Slim to deliver it to the man. Soris stood out less as he wasn't of Rivaini blood (which explained why Raighne was so dark - his mother was a Night Elf and had worked for Loghain during the Occupation - interesting information). Soris was to act the servant and Slim the master tailor.

Then the two left Vaughan. Vaughan was found dead in his room not a day later, wearing nothing but his britches and this shirt. The shirt was covered on the inside with the invisible powder, untraceable to anyone.

Shianni, Nessiara and Valora had been raped but the barbarian was slain for his acts. It was quite clever.

Vaughan's father had perished at Ostagar and so Rendon Howe took the Arling.

"I hope you won't go to the guard about that Commander. They didn't care the bastard raped my wife, my cousin and my sister-by-law but they were all over his death. They don't care about elves." Raighne drummed his fingers on the table, looking at her with those dark eyes with such hope she couldn't have betrayed his trust if she had it in her before.

"Never, in your situation it is what I would have done also." She nodded, her voice cracked.

"I'll continue then." Raighne sighed, taking his hand from the table and looking up at Shianni.

He then said about how a crate had turned up in the Alienage, a rotting corpse inside of an elf. There was uproar about it and the guards were sent into the Alienage - each in the heraldry of Teyrn Howe. Then when the guards were gone there was just the plague.

They figured the corpse had carried it inside the Alienage walls - who had sent it unknown and the crate destroyed in the purge. The plague stuck to the corpses that littered the streets. The first infected were those that handled the corpses for their burnings. The next were those that tried to clean the blood off the streets and the next were their families.

They coughed blood, shivered, sweated relentlessly until they were violently vomiting. People died from the fever of it, they scrambled for a cure, taking leeches and hemsbane, pickled frogs liver tablets and filling their homes with smoking lavender.

Anything to be rid of it. The authority - Howe - locked the gates. Nobody could get in or out to work and food stopped coming in. The elves grew desperate for something.

Then Howe sent the Tevinter 'healers' in. They took the worst off into a free hospice and they came out looking hale, their stomachs filled with food. Some even not sick went in just so they could eat.

Then half of them never returned. Less and less elves came back.

"They're taking them as slaves. But none of us can get in there to prove it. Those shems are just taking our families, whether there's actually a plague or if they put something in the water supply and concocted all of it as an elaborate show who knows - but people are dying or worse because of this. It needs to stop." Shianni took a deep breath. "Erlina said the Queen refuses her signature to the documents this Caladrius wants signed but it's not stopped it. They never needed permission but they wanted it."

Dyrfinna sat there, shocked to the core. "And these Tevinters are outside by the Vhenadahl tree, taking people?" She finally spluttered.

"Yes." Shianni and Raighne said in unison.

"You'll have to excuse me, Valora is sick and they already took Soris. I'm looking after her and my wife is starting to show signs. If you could find out how they seemed to cure everyone then that's a bonus but just stop them taking our families and friends. We don't have much Commander but we have each other." Raighne stood up, and she noticed the dark-skinned elf was covered in a fine sheen of sweat under his cuffs of his shirt, the armpits a slight yellow and a handkerchief sticking from his pocket with blooded splutters.

"You are ill." She stated.

"And I still get past the guards to get into the market to buy my fabric. It's not a plague - they're poisoning us with the water, I'm so sure of it. There hasn't been a peep about the plague outside of the Alienage, it's like we don't exist out there Commander." He looked down at his pocket and stuffed his handkerchief in tighter. "It was nice seeing the Wardens arrive in Denerim. I thought you all looked so resplendent in your armour, like a beacon of hope. Don't let me down. Please... and if you can - there might be an elf that hasn't been shipped away yet. My father. His name is Cyrion and he has grey hair, should be wearing a tasselled jacket I made him for his name-day, he'd never take it off. He's not dark like me but just shout out his name."

"I will look for him." Dyrfinna nodded solemnly when Shianni took her hand.

"Come on, your fellows will be wondering what happened to you." The fiery haired elf looked so tired, the hollows under her eyes darker in the dim light but her grip was still strong, still a burning fierceness etched on her face.

Something needed to be done about these elves. This was no way to live; constantly upon the whims of humans with power and a mood that seemed to swing about like leaves in gale force winds. Carruthers was right in that there seemed to be a grudging about help from humans - they needed to get out of this themselves. They needed power themselves.

* * *

Loghain couldn't help but pace as the others tried to question people. Carver got spat at, Kornelius slapped, Morrigan didn't bother but noted a templar that was walking aimlessly about the place - a white stick of the blind held in front of him.

Perhaps the templars weren't being clueless about the blood mage Howe had hired. How such a loyal Ferelden had done all this sickened him. It was so obvious from the guardsmen in Amaranthine livery to the mages emploring elves to 'get healed' - but Finna was getting a full story. Hopefully. That bloody woman trusted too easily for his liking.

The templar thought something odd was happening in the Alienage that wasn't about the plague or the recent purge and pointed them toward the Chantry-run orphanage. It looked as if it'd been burnt from the dark flame marks from the windows and it looked abandoned.

Loghain decided to have a look in - for hopes of finding something out. The blind templar, Ser Otto, decided he needed to join them and despite his lack of sight had a canny sense of hearing and a great sense of demon presences - like Silmarwen.

Inside they were immediately met with mangy, badly burn stray dogs - rabid from the spittle collected on their muzzles.

It was almost a mercy ending the creatures from what pain they were in. Loghain held his sword out in case of further attack.

"Do you hear me Ser Wilhelm? Ser Wilhelm!" The voice floated in as if on a separate plane of existence and the elven mage cursed quite vulgarly about lesser Shades.

The ethereal creatures that looked like the hunched Sloth Demon from the Fade burst without disturbing the wooden floorboards from the floor, very real looking claws and piercing red eyes.

Thorvald sent a barrage of arrows into one and is smoked away into nothing. Silmarwen was already throwing lightning about from her staff and Morrigan her glowing orange magic with ice and flames. Kornelius kept his hands engulfed in blue light - the healing magic he specialised in.

The blind templar lashed out at one, it slipped behind him and swiped at his balding head before Thorvald skewered it at what could have been called it's own head, sending back into the ether it came from.

He stood like a bulwark, keeping the Shades from the three mages and archer as well as making sure the templars didn't get hit again so painfully. Carver was swinging his greatsword at the Shades, cutting them into smoky remains.

The blood still trickled down his neck but no cut remained thanks to Kornelius (who groused about healing a templar if an unintelligible groan was grousing for the mage).

They continued through the ruinous, empty orphanage, Silmarwen occasionally making a crude remark about demons about.

"I am falling Ser Wilhelm, Ser Wilhelm today!" The child's ghostly voice filled the air and Loghain tensed for more of the Shades. None seemed forth-coming and they continued in the dust and soot, half-burnt toys littered in some rooms, the floorboards creaking under the weight of armour and footfalls.

"I'm a maiden Ser Wilhelm! Ser Wilhelm?" The voice became fearful for a moment and Silmarwen shuddered.

"No... no... you're not having me. I won't break you fucking bastard!" Silmarwen declared to the thin air, huffing for all her worth as her forehead broke into a sweat and she batted the air away from her like a madwoman.

"Calm yourself Warden, should you allow yourself to be taken my this entity then we shall have to strike you down." Morrigan hissed at the elven woman as she swept back her curly brown hair, glaring back at the marsh witch.

"But I'm dying Ser Wilhelm, Ser Wilhelm. In pain!" The ghostly boy appeared before them, limping forward, little pointed ears and a silvery trail of blood through the door ahead.

They broke into a run, Loghain grabbing the blind templar by the arm as they ran after the ghost. Damned ghost!

The room was silent and the door slammed shut behind them. Silmarwen was yanking at the handle until the metal knob came off in her hands. "Shitting Creators!" She shouted, thumping her dainty fist on the door. How'd he get them into this?

The laugher shook the air and the voice started up again, repeating the words already spoken like a nursery rhyme.

"_Do you hear me Ser __Wilhem, Ser Wilhem?_

_I am falling Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem, today._

_I'm a maiden Ser Wilhem. Ser Wilhem?_

_But I'm dying Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem. In pain._" The cackling started up after that and Silmarwen wasn't the only one cursing somehow.

The templar uttered a prayer beneath his breath, the floor was shaking.

The light from broken roof beams and unmended tiles flickered red and orange then a strange dark purple, flickering faster and faster. The obsenities coming from the elf could make a Revered Mother blush.

The sconces in the room flickered into life, green fire in them. Thorvald eeped and muttered something in Old Ferelden. Carver groaned something very blasphemous.

The ghostly child was back in the room, this time you could clearly see his broken legs, the bones jutting out of them as he pulled himself across the floor. He was crying.

Kornelius even made a gasp at it.

"_One, two, Maric's run through._" The ghostly child voice declared. Loghain's cheeks flushed in anger. No. Maric wasn't dead. He still refused to believe it. That damned witch had something to do with it. 'A Blight will come to Ferelden but Maric wouldn't live to see it.' - it was bollocks. He accepted it was a Blight but that Maric was dead? Without a body he refused the mere notion of it, not while so many rumours circulated about him being somewhere. So many rumours.

"_Three, four, the kingdom's at war._" It was making more sense. Damn that ghost! The civil war and the darkspawn were more than enough as well as the Orlesians attacking. It just couldn't be true!

"_Eight, nine. And now you die!_" The child's voice was replaced by something sinister and it dissipated, a huge corpse wielding a long greatsword rising from the white smoke left behind.

"Revenant!" Kornelius shouted. The revenant laughed, dark and sinister as it raised it's sword. The forces around them pulled them in. Ser Otto was skewered immediately on the greatsword.

Loghain landed in a crumpled, metallic heap at it's feet, the elven mage being a surprisingly heavy weight on his chest. Kornelius managed to get a barrier up over the two Wardens before the greatsword bashed over them, rebounding against the blue webbing.

Silmarwen shouted and pushed up, tackling around the revenant's ankles, her whole body engulfed in lightning so violent he could feel it jolting about his own body - forcing him to stand.

His sword felt heavy in his hand, his shield useless at his side. Suddenly, orange light exploded on the revenant's head, two arrows going through the rotting flesh there in quick sucession and Carver's greatsword hacked into the side.

Feeling returned properly and Loghain thrust his sword upwards into it's ribcage for the revenant to stagger, phlegmy laughter filling the room.

It collapsed, black smoke rising out of old burnt bones - the illusion shattered. "And 'tis what happens when your Chantry finds an elven mage in this place of extraordinary power. They cull it - it tries to fight back even in death." Morrigan explained as Kornelius was healing.

"My locket." The ghostly boy was ahead them now, leaning over the bones - his own but stretched, his body emaciated to fit the body of the revenant - but you could see the charred, pointed ears where it lay, the plain clothes ripped around the shoulders. It was the boy. The ghost picked it up and held it into the air. "It was my great-grandmother's... my mother still hears my voice. Take it back to her and give her peace." The the locket fell as the boy was gone again.

Loghain picked up the locket, sparing a glance back at Ser Otto, the blind but brave templar, before heading out of the orphanage they way they'd come - the dying screams of children and women burnt all around them.

The boy's mother wasn't difficult to find. She clutched a heap of dried flowers to her chest - rocking backward and forward on the ground and muttering about voices.

Loghain held the locket out to her and she thanked them profusely before scurrying down an alleyway.

Maric wasn't dead. He repeated the thought over and over. Maric wasn't dead - he'd know. He'd know.


	30. Ending the Madness of Howe

Author note: I'm surprisingly happy with that last chapter - I think I encapsulated what I feel about the elves and their part in Ferelden and how I think they'd want to pull themselves out of their situation. I loved writing Raighne and Shianni with their story. Raighne's origin story made more sense for someone who isn't trained in weaponry but is sharper than a needle and more cunning than a fox.

Oh - I noticed I misspelt Nesiara's name with two 's' so I'll continue to do so. Her name is now Nessiara!

Also - introspection. It's entirely implausible that the Denerim Alienage was the only one hit. Pfft - it was part of a slaving ring - funny how in canon the places with Alienages are controlled by Howe or Loghain (and we know Howe had Loghain pretty much by the balls). That is my explanation and I stick by it.

*See an upcoming story about Elrohir Surana, Gilraen Mahariel and Jowan in Tevinter.

**The amount of guards in Howe's dungeons is completely unrealistic. I know it's a game but not for a fic, he would be paranoid but not enough for over thirty guards and all those traps lining the way to him. Instead, I made it a more plausible labyrinth underneath the Denerim estate.

Long author note is long but hear me out - I have four, yes four! Stories in the pipeline that will be in the Tdotm universe (then inquisition and any others that crop up in my brain). I can't name one of them. The prize for naming it will be an OC in any of the Tdotm universe stories that will feature however you wish. The story is the DA2 adventures of Miriam Hawke (PM me for spoilers as I shan't post them here - you will however have to give me some title ideas. Nothing for free!). Something snappy, memorable or just witty enough to make me laugh. I'm just clueless at the moment for ideas.

Now without further waffling - I give you the next (long) chapter! Dun dun dun! (Thank the Maker, the Avvar Gods, the Dwarven Paragons and the Dalish Gods for M rating as gruesome it's is the only way to describe the deaths of some vile characters, slavery and some rather disgusting magic)

* * *

Dyrfinna came out into the square with the Vhenadahl tree and saw the whole of the place in a new light. The only thing that remained was that burning hatred of the Tevinter with the scrolled vellum, jotting the names of the elves as he admitted them into the 'free hospice'. So he knew which he would take as slaves - she could see the way his eyes trailed over them, ushering the ones that looked more physically able quicker into the re-purposed house.

Why would anyone even take slaves? She needed to know. Loghain and the rest of her Warden group were exiting a burnt-out building looking like they'd simultaneously caught the plague, seen ghosts and been in a fight. She walked over to them and Loghain gathered her up in his arms, just holding her tight.

She was a clever enough woman to know whatever had happened - Loghain needed this hug and hugged him back. Sometimes even men as stoic as Loghain needed a wordless hug, if she was honest so did she. Silmarwen coughed, bringing the two warriors out of their embrace. She turned to the elven shaman.

"We need to stop the Tevinters over there who act to be administering aide to the plagued elves. Shianni and her cousin Raighne believe them to be taking the elves into slavery and that this plague is no illness but poisoning. Raighne was in the marketplace and shows signs of this 'plague' - yet he passed through the gates. Guardsman Leith clearly stated that it was only non-hostile elves without this plague that passed through."

Silmarwen looked disgusted, her silver hooped ears down in anger. "I have an idea Commander but you'll need to trust me."

* * *

Silmarwen gave her staff over to Kornelius - who was still without a staff and was bustled into the Tabris household by Shianni. They needed this plan to work.

A dusky-skinned elf was sitting on a stool at the bedside of a female elf, her mousy-brown hair was slick to her scalp, the male elf applying a wet cloth to her forehead as she lay there - almost lucid but for the way her eyes followed Silmarwen and Shianni about the room. "Valora isn't getting any better Shianni." The dark elf announced. "I don't know whether it'd be better to hope she's one of the lucky elves that comes back out the hospice or not."

Shianni tensed next to her. "We're not relying on those pigs." She hissed. "This Warden is Silmarwen and she should be able to get into the hospice for us - come on... let's make you look like one of us. Nessiara!"

Another blonde elf, this one more delicate than the sick one in bed but the same eyes came into the room, a wooden tray with tea, thin brown soup and bread on it came in. She looked at Shianni and shook her head. Nessiara - she assumed, put the tray down on the knees of the elf in the bed, giving the dark-skinned elf an affectionate peck on the cheek. "Love, sitting at her side won't make her better. Get back to work and I'll feed Valora." Her voice was low, but sweet. Silmarwen took note that both the dark-skinned elf and Nessiara had matching wedding bands on, Valora had one on her wasted fingers but it was set with a tiny green gem.

"You're right." He answered her, standing and giving her a brief kiss on her cheek. "Shianni - what's this plan then?"

"Dress this Warden up to look like one of us - get her to feign the plague and she can get into the hospice Raighne." Shianni said plainly. So now the male elf was Raighne - she had a name for him.

"Do you have a weapon with you then? I can quickly stitch a pocket inside a jacket for you." Raighne said, flexing his bony fingers. He was the tailor the Commander quickly told them all about then. Silmarwen gave him a smirk and put her hand out, the lightning jumping in a low jolt from one finger to another. Dear Creators that hurt!

"Weapon enough? If you can hide this, every apostate in Thedas would swamp you for orders." The tailor gave her a mirthless snort of laughter.

"Let's see what we can do." His smile seemed genuine as Shianni lead her behind a wooden screen that looked like horses had been painted on it long ago.

Raighne loved his work, that was obvious as he showed a remarkable professionalism in helping her into the skirts and blouse, tucking the blouse into the layers of dusty pink, orange and yellow. Lastly he gave her a woollen shawl over her shoulders, pinning it with a bronze brooch that looked suspiciously like a round hairy thing with three eyes - his mother's. Down to the last detail she supposedly looked like any other elf in the Alienage - the skirts and blouse, the shawl for warmth and the brooch as a sign of the sentimentality the elves of this place held on items.

"Mother loved that coconut brooch - reminded her of Rivain." Raighne said affectionately. "Nessiara hates it, but make sure you don't break it as I'd like to give it to a daughter or even a grand-daughter one day."

"I don't hate it - I have my own brooch!" Came the reply from the blonde elf (who was sister to Valora as she found out).

He held up a small compact mirror, likely stolen but scratched to buggery, and angled it so Silmarwen could see herself. She was shocked at it. She hadn't even noticed Shianni pinning her hair up into a very sensible braid, coiling it as if she'd come from work. "I look... normal." She breathed. She looked so unassuming. It was perfect!

"Here - take this handkerchief and cough into it once in front of the Tevinters - this isn't a plague so you shouldn't catch anything." Raighne handed her a crumpled white cloth from his pocket, blood in a fine sprayed pattern over the floral yellow and green. She took it hesitantly, hoping these elves were right about it being poison and not a plague - or else they'd be in a race to find a cure.

* * *

Dyrfinna watched from the shadows, hoping Silmarwen knew what she was doing as she made a great act of being a plague victim amongst the others, stumbling forward into the Tevinter.

Her Warden caught his eye and he looked her up and down before he scribbled whatever name she gave - admitting her within the the hospice. Shianni suddenly cursed, Dyrfinna followed her pale brown eyes to see a flag raised in one of the buildings, a brown bear on yellow - like the tabards of some of the guardsmen around the Tevinter.

"What?" She asked of the elf.

"Howe's back in his estate. Now would be the perfect time if you're going after him too." Shianni sighed.

"I'll go." She looked behind her to see Loghain with his 'do not argue with me' face on.

"You will? Any more help or do you think to take down all of his men should they get in your way on your own?" Dyrfinna levelled, trying to figure a compromise here. They were taking down what sounded like three Tevinter shaman and a few guardsmen from what Shianni and Raighne had figured so far in the hospice but Loghain ws going against unknown.

"I have... a few reasons I'd not like to get tangled with blood mages." Carver announced.

"You'll need a healer." Kornelius shrugged, looking at the staff he held with some sort of reverence - having not used one in so long.

"I could do with seeing how the other side lives." Morrigan sniffed. "And the smell might improve to be in a noble estate rather than twitten during a period of no refuse taken." Shianni glared at the witch for that and visibly reined herself in from making a comment about it.

"Then the rest of us will help Silmarwen. Let us do this quickly then." Dyrfinna snapped her fingers for Asgrim to follow her and Thorvald kept in shadow, his murky brown eyes were as pained as she felt - he would likely be having a very similar reaction to this 'almost' slavery of elves.

Shianni led them through the alleyway to the back door of the hospice where an elf was standing guard in armour too large with a sword too heavy for him to lift surely. "You're working for them!" Shianni hissed at the man who looked at them with a mixture of shame and shock.

"Please - they made my wife better Shianni, they actually paid me!" He quivered slightly, his armour making a dull clank. "You can't blame a guy for trying to make a life!"

"You're no better than those shems - you know it's slavery!" Shianni growled.

"You stand with shems." He crossed his arms, looking at the Warden group.

"Move out the way so we can undo what has been done here or we will be forced to hurt you." Dyrfinna put it bluntly. The elf looked at her like he knew she wasn't lying. One man who could condone slavery for money was someone they could end for the sake of ending this instance of slavery. It didn't matter he was elven or if her were human or dwarven - slavery was wrong in every sense of the word.

The elf scuppered off - leaving his sword where he dropped it. "I feel magic - Silmarwen needs you." Kornelius snapped. Dyrfinna nodded.

"Good luck Loghain." She nodded to him as Shianni took them through the servant entrance from Alienage to the Denerim estate - it would be the quickest way for them. Loghain nodded back and she removed her shield from the strapping on her back, shoving forcefully at the door to have it break.

* * *

Silmarwen was lead into the hospice. The first thing that caught her eye was the pile of gold on the table, the elves laying on cots, looking better - eating thin soup with egg trails in it.

The guard lead her to the table and she hacked forward - still feigning her illness. The man with a feathered pair of shoulders looked up at her from his writings. "Plane pulchra nimis. Putarem quadraginta huius, fortasse quinquaginta - Danarius fecerit simile eis oculi viridess." He scribbled on his parchment, Silmarwen quickly translated his words. _'Yes, quite pretty too. I should think forty for this one, perhaps fifty - Danarius does like them with green eyes.' _She trained her face neutral. Elves in the city didn't likely know Tevene - they likely thought it was part of an incantation or spell. "Name?"

"Winifred Ser, Winifred Cooper." She have him a quick cough into the hanky, looking inside the blood splatters as if diamonds were coughed out before she stuffed it back up her cuff.

"I don't think we have room in this part of the hospice healer Saritor." The guard looked at her. Oh that was so a code for something else.

"Tolle eam tenens in cellulis - eam potionem veneno curare." _- Take her into the holding cells - give her the potion to cure the poison. _That was enough for her to hear. Raighne and Shianni were right.

The guard put a hand on her shoulder. Silmarwen looked up a him and smiled before he brought her hand to his, letting the loose static she could feel in the air zap through him.

The man convulsed - dropping like a stone. Fucking Void she hated channelling magic through her hands. She wondered how Kornelius and Morrigan could cope with it as she launched herself over the table and landed on the Tevinter slaver.

The door was bashed in as the two mages fought, Silmarwen's hand encased in stone as she punched him in his filthy face.

She heard the hound bark and the sounds of swords being drawn. She hit the man up his nose, a very satisfying crack as the cartilage was forced up into his brain. Her arms stung where he'd held her, forcing spirit bolts in pulses through her.

She looked up and saw arrows skewering the guards back, the Commander bashing with her shield as the guards dared near her and slicing violently with her sword at exposed necks. Silmarwen stood triumphant on this Saritor's chest and flung a stone fist at the guard trying to cut up the hound - Asgrim jumping on him as he ripped his helmet off to relieve the pressure of the dent to maul his face.

The elves in the cots watched the battle with fearful eyes until it was over. "You... they - they cured us!" One of them shouted.

"They poisoned you - the man just said it in Tevene, they're taking the ones he thinks are worth enough coin to Tevinter and putting the ones like yourself back into the Alienage to spread news that they can heal this pretend plague." Silmarwen shouted back at him, shocked she hadn't sworn her face blue at the ignorance of the elf.

He looked at her - the truth dawning on her. A young boy with a noticeable limp came over off his cot. "Papa, I saw them putting a powder in the well. I told you." He said to the elf that had shouted first. "This... mage? She saved us!"

"Get down Yewen." The man stood up, also with a worrying gait and drew the boy away. "You know about... mages." He whispered the last word but it hung in the air with a connotation of 'disgusting, vile creature' in it.

Silmarwen showed remarkable control in not frazzling the bigot then and there. "Commander - this coin should go to someone who can understand where it should be distributed - amongst the elves if possible. I'll read what this bastard," She kicked his head under her feet. "wrote. We should find out where the slaves are kept before they're being sent off."

The archer, warrior and dog helped the elves out of their cots - killing the 'healer' outside in the process while she sat at the desk, reading - getting more sickened as she read. The Altus Magisters of Tevinter were conducting experiments on elves - but one of the Altus was refusing to even think about it. An Altus with considerable power. It had to be Mahariel. Silmarwen smiled briefly about the shit her brother and the somniari were likely getting up to in Tevinter with Jowan.* She'd have to give Mahariel a heads up about this though - see if they could do anything about the elves already sent over. What a fun dream to have.

So far it was two hundred elves already sent from Denerim, more waiting for the next ship to Tevinter, and this wasn't the only Alienage targeted. Highever Alienage was cleared of every elf worth a copper to these slavers - just the infirm and elderly left. Oh Loghain wasn't going to be happy, their next destination was supposed to be the Gwaren Alienage. Amaranthine Alienage was the first to be cleared - of every elf. Every single elf in Amaranthine!

Wasn't this Howe they were after the Arl of Amaranthine - and declared himself the Arl of Denerim, took the Teyrnir of Highever... this was too worrying. As many Ferelden elves they could find. Why Ferelden elves in particular... that almost made no sense.

Silmarwen kept on reading. They had a large contract for lyrium with the dwarven Carta - which hadn't turned up. She snorted - Carver told her they'd practically made the Carta of Orzammar extinct in order to crown King Bhelen and get the dwarven troops. The Wardens inadvertently halted whatever plans these Tevinters had!

The rest of it was prices, according to age, gender, weight, characteristics and skills as well as docility and how easily blood magic could be used to cow the more resistant elves. They thought she was a forty or fifty sovereign worth to one of the Magisters on their lists was mad! The top prices were Magisters looking for very specific slaves. One Galenus of Minrathous was looking for male elves of five foot three, brown hair and blue eyes, skin tones 2 through to 4 (whatever that meant) and was willing to pay up to two-hundred sovereigns a head! Fucking Void!

The last was a 'where have we put the slaves going to Magister Fuck-face or Magister Dick-head'. That's what they wanted. At the bottom of all the vellum there was a contract - they were paying the noble in charge of each of the places they were going to look the other way about these activities - roughly fifty to one hundred sovereigns a head. What! Silmarwen flipped back through the pages and read the list.

Highever, Denerim, Amaranthine and Gwaren was next. Howe was the ruling noble in each and Gwaren was still without a ruler without Loghain as Teyrn there... Silmarwen now wished she was going after Howe. The Commander already said Loghain was leading a group after him.

The contract ended with a formal 'you can have these three apprentice blood mages with you at all times' for Howe too.

"Commander!" Silmarwen called the blonde warrior over, the Avvar approached and arched an eyebrow. "As soon as we've routed this we storm that fucking estate and help Loghain. There's so much shit here it's had to be on the books for a while. This Howe is fucking insane Dyr, he's taken elves from two Alienages already - this was just part of a larger plan. We've stumbled into something fucking huge."

"Two more? There are more Alienages..." She raked a gauntlet through her fringe, honey eyes darting backward and forward. "What Alienages and which were next?"

"Amaranthine was hit first. It seems Valora and Nessiara left Highever just before they got hit. Then here. Gwaren was next." Silmarwen put in concisely.

"I wish I could make all these..." The Commander took in a deep breath, her fists balling. "Let us kill these slavers now - before they realise we are here. Lead the way to the elves in bondage."

Silmarwen passed the wad of vellum over to Thorvald. He rolled it up without a word, his eyes bloodshot and stuffed it into the inner pouch down the side of his britches for concealing such items. "Are you all right big guy?" She asked, surprisingly softly for how pissed off she was.

"What good was the war of Avvars and Tevinters if they ply slavery in modern times? We should have retreated into our mountains and done nothing for all the good we did." His voice was hoarse and he stared at the boarded up windows as if he could see though them at the Alienage.

"Help! Maker help! Is anyone out there?" The archer turned to the muffled yell, the wall looked... odd. He seemed to notice too, walking over to it and tracing his fingers over the wooden panelling.

"Hmm... here. Can you send a quick zap here?" He pointed at what looked to be a plain knot in the wood but she did as he asked. The panel pulled out and the archer shoved his fingers beneath it, ripping it off the wall with surprising force to reveal a large room full of elves - all in chains around their feet that linked their shackles.

The wave of urine, blood and faeces hit the duo and the Commander came over with the dog at what they were doing. Her face said it all.

The elves were so cramped behind the bars in the back of the room they couldn't physically sit down. Many were stripped down to their smalls, women, children and men all linked together - some even dead.

There had to be twenty elves in that tiny space. They scrambled up toward the bars nevertheless, withered arms reaching through the iron, eyes wild. "Please! Do you have food! Water! Maker please!" One of the women shouted.

A great susurration covered the chained elves as they took in the four forms that came into the room, two humans, an elf and a dog. The cavalry had arrived in a form they didn't expect.

"-really, shems and a mongrel-"

"-just more slavers-"

"-I knew the lack of the Tevene was too good to be true-"

"Please! We're here to help!" Silmarwen called for silence and the elves turned toward her, taking her form in.

"You're not from the Alienage!" One elf shouted.

"I saw some keys on the desk. I shall get them." Thorvald whispered to her. Silmarwen nodded subtly as the archer disappeared back through the panel, ducking so he didn't hit his head. Dyrfinna came up to the bars and held onto the outstretched hand of a particularly skinny girl at the bottom of the cage.

"What is your name?" She whispered, Silmarwen remembered the Commander was a mother. Shitting Creators that must be something to see as a mother!

The little girl's ears lowered. She was so thin, but her height meant she had to be at least five if not as old as eight. She looked about to cry as she stuck herself into the iron bars, arms wrapping around Dyr's shoulders as the Commander'd knelt down, crying and babbling quickly in her ear.

A lump formed in her throat as the two of them stayed in that awkward, emotional embrace. "You will be safe Amethyne, your mother... your mother is not coming back." Dyr brushed her ungauntleted hand on her cheek, wiping a fat tear from making a trail there.

Thorvald came back into the room then. "But she has to! She promised!" The young girl pouted.

"Some mothers cannot keep all their promises young one. I can make sure you are safe, you will not be alone." Dyr's voice cracked and the girl rushed forward as much as the bars would allow, latching again to her shoulders, her little hazelnut coloured hair covered head poking through the bars, snuggled into her neck.

* * *

Dyrfinna made sure the elves in the holding cell were given into the waiting Tabris household. It was not large, but they would wait there until they could be taken to the Warden Compound. They would be given jobs, pay, accommodations to live in there as well as food and water to start with. They needed help, but they would be earning their help, not just given it.

She promised Amethyne, her mother was in Highever and never returned. She was either dead or on route to Tevinter as they spoke. She couldn't tell the skinny little girl that now but she made the little elven girl made completely sure she would be safe by taking Thorarin's silver baby bangle and placing it on her wrist. She promised.

Dyrfinna ripped a notice on the wall next to the door they were to enter, slipping the grubby vellum in her pocket, the crudely printed words upon it disgusting. It reminded the elves that should they be caught with a weapon inside of Denerim that they would be reprimanded with having the fingers of their dominant hand broken. Barbaric - and it wasn't even to do with the Tevinters! It had the shield of the Denerim guards upon it!

The three Wardens and Mabari went to the apartment housing the Tevinters had taken over, slaying the imperial guards within without mercy, a deadly force of arrows, teeth, sword and magic - each determined to end this now.

They came into a large room and Thorvald called them to halt as he noticed a trap, taking his dagger and cutting the wire, stepping back quickly before the barbaric claws sprang out into each other. An elf, flanked by guards stepped out of the shadows in the room.

Dyrfinna put her hand out to halt her Wardens and hound before they just slaughtered this elf and the elf put her hand out to stop the Tevinters behind her.

"A stalemate, how quaint; and covered in blood, do-gooders here to stop operations or simply people wandered into something they can't handle?" The elf smirked, a thick Tevene accent on her voice. Silmarwen growled beside her, holding onto the staff she'd taken from the shaman she'd killed in the 'hospice' menacingly.

"How can an elf stand with Tevinter slavers!" She near roared the accusation, eyes wide at the archer elf with the dark hair.

"I am an imperial citizen before an elf!" She shouted back, drawing her bow off her back with an arrow. Thorvald was quicker, getting her in the throat before she could even notch the arrow.

They descended into chaos quickly. Dyrfinna protected Silmarwen from the crossbow bolts of the Tevinters with her shield, slashing any that deigned to get too close. Asgrim sprang around, distracting them and ripping the flesh from one of their faces like a mabari possessed.

Thorvald kept beside Silmarwen - his arrows a deadly accurate and very fast, taking the archers and crossbow holders out quickly.

Dyrfinna pulled the arrow out of her thigh, a hot pulse of her blood throbbing out. Silmarwen gulped back one of the lyrium potions they'd found and tried to heal her, not being a healer she just staunched the bleeding.

Thorvald picked up the arrows out of quivers, adding them to his own before looking at the bow the Tevinter elf had on her. He picked it out of her cooling hands with the arrow she held, pulling the bowstring back, letting it loose with a twang by his ear, the arrow sailing cleanly though the air and hitting a hidden switch - burning acid falling out of the ceiling, the floorboards smoking acrid where the acid burned. "Tevinter my arse! You never betray a single living being!" He fumed, another of the elf's arrows taken from her as he hit another hidden switch.

"Wouldn't you do anything to protect a fellow Avvar?" Silmarwen said softly, padding up to him around the corpses and reaching up to put a hand on his shoulder.

The archer spun on the spot, face flushed in anger and breath coming in huffs though clenched teeth. "Never! There is right and there is wrong! I would have sooner slain my own clan than had them slave people!" His eyes widened and he wiped his bloody gauntlet through his shoulder lenght black hair, taking a deep breath through his large nose. "Would you?"

"I'd kill my brother if he so much as thought about owning a slave. I told him." Silmarwen shrugged. "Now come on, the last holding cell is just down that corridor and hopefully where we'll find this bastard Caladrius."

* * *

Shianni left them to return to her house as soon as they were in the kitchens of the Arl of Denerim's estate. Loghain looked behind him at the three others he had against what could be a whole troop of the army - held back to protect Rendon Howe.

Carver didn't show a single iota of fear - likely drawing on those Ash Warrior techniques even at this moment.

Morrigan was completely nonplussed.

Kornelius was still staring at the staff like it would shatter.

"Now listen and listen hard, in - find Howe. Find out what in the Maker's damned name he's up to, end the man, then out before word even gets out that we started this. My daughter can't protect us because this is technically murder and murder of a nobleman at that, by commoners, which all of us are." Three heads nodded. Kornelius' most fervently but the mage had spent the last two, possibly three years in Aeonar. Any imprisonment that long would make someone never want to be locked up again.

"Then we best be stealthy." Morrigan said sarcastically. As much as it was bad show to backhand a woman he wished he could at that moment.

"Well obviously." Carver snorted.

Loghain glared at the pair of them. Anyone could walk past and hear them. They moved slowly after his beckoned hand, slipping into an alcove, breaths abnormally quiet and held in for as long as possible.

The four kept closer than he would have liked to be pressed against the two mages and fellow warrior but he noticed a guardsman nodding off in the corner.

They stayed that way for what could have been hours or minutes but the sweat beaded on his forehead and he struggled to remain still. Dammit he should have found some leathers. Much more suitable for sneaking compared to heavy plate and chain. Carver was in the same predicament in his own heavy plate. Fighting slower with heavier weapons meant heavier, thicker armour to compensate. Unlike the bard and Thorvald they couldn't get away with leathers.

The guard started snoring and they moved at a snail's pace not to wake him, their breathing still minimal until they moved into another shaded alcove.

"-What's he doing in the ruddy dungeons?-"

"-No idea, prefers it when he's had trouble, heard Thomas against the darkspawn-"

"-Yeah, the Queen publicly declared it's actually a Blight or so I heard-"

"-I heard Delilah went missing too, and then Nathaniel swearing vengeance for his banishment, those children didn't turn out how he wanted-"

Two maids bustled past, laundry baskets held in front of them.

"-Then Bann Esmerelle and Lady Sophie both turning up at the estate, that catfight meant wine cleaned out the carpets for weeks!-"

"-The bedrooms are always a mess after they visit-"

Loghain snorted a long breath. Rendon Howe had put a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. The Wardens slunk through into the bedrooms of the estate - he knew the way into the dungeons.

Something caught his eye on the desk that had his own stamp on. He walked over and picked it up, scanning the papers.

Loghain fumed. Howe was going to try and take Gwaren and his plans didn't sound pleasant, he'd promised a large portion of the lands to Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine, had Antivan Crows, his plans for Highever were for this Lady Sophie... what had been going through his mind! Howe had always struck him as a shrewd, careful man. None of these actions sounded like him.

He remembered the younger man, one of the fifty soldiers that survived the almost slaughter of half the rebel army in White River - decorated by Maric himself. He always wore the medallion like a badge of honour - and honour it was. Bryce Cousland and Leonas Bryland always wore theirs. It was a morbid club the three nobles had formed 'I survived' more their point than anything less savoury.

He kept on reading, gradually getting angrier. The elves were more than getting put in slavery by Tevinters, he had designs on having Anora marry either his now late, drunkard son Thomas or before Cailan had died - Delilah to Cailan! He thought back on bloody Arl Eamon and his cajoling about Cailan divorcing his daughter. Howe would have been trying too.

What pawns everyone had been! He threw the paper down and glanced behind him. "Howe dies as painfully as we can allow."

"No problem." Morrigan shrugged, a feral grin on her plump lips. He wasn't sure whether that was good or bad if he was perfectly honest with himself.

They were moving when another set of documents on the dresser caught his eye - badly burnt but a silver griffon on the top.

Loghain could barely make it out but- 'The Warden that slays the Archdemon-' then nothing but burnt vellum. Morrigan came to peer over his shoulder and he pulled the griffon stamped vellum to his chest. Warden Secrets no doubt Lucien hadn't said. It didn't seem to be readable but he wasn't having the ruddy witch read it. She laughed, haughtily and musical in it's own way. He rolled his eyes, stuffing the vellum on the desk all under his chestplate rather forcefully.

"Move then-" He cut himself off when he felt the tingle in the base of his spine. A Warden close but not close enough for the warmth in his veins? He hated guessing on the intensity of the tingle how many it would be. He knew Finna would follow into the estate if she was done. She was just as bad as he was when it came to being bloody protective, like a bear with cubs in danger if truth be completely told.

He shouldn't find it so damned endearing in all honesty. And now he was thinking about her going after a known blood mage with an archer, crude elven mage and a dog.

The tingle wasn't behind them though... it was behind the door ahead. Kornelius knelt down at the lock, pulling a hairpin out of his new pinned back fringe and fiddling with it. "Since when do mages know how to pick locks?" Carver asked with a snort.

"Since they escape from heavily armed prisons." The mage said dryly back, tongue stuck out his mouth as he kept an ear to the handle. There was a faint metallic pop and Kornelius jiggled the hairpin out, sliding it back into his brown hair.

* * *

The dungeons were long and dark. Kornelius kept his staff out in a pike-like position over them, a flame lit of the end. The tingling feeling kept on fading and getting stronger as they made their way through the underground maze of sorts, just hoping for signs of life.** The sweat and apprehension in the air was palpable.

A lone flickering torch was at the end of this corridor, held by a leather-clad figure half in shadow. "Who goes there!" The man shouted when suddenly dirty, bloody, hairy arms thrust out of the cells he was next to, his head hitting the bars with a sickening crack.

The arms pulled the man repeatedly forward and back - his torch dropped on the stone floor so all they could see was the jerking head and hear the sickening cracking even as they got closer.

The man's arms - he had to be a Warden or the Warden sense was faultier than some contraption Miriam tried to make. Carver grinned despite the horrific death that had just happened in front of them, remembering the incident with the lure spring that made his older sister have a red mark on her forehead for weeks!

The hands fumbled on the belt of the dead guard before he found the keys, unlocked the cell door and dragged the corpse with the battered head inside.

The Wardens stayed where they were, weaponry drawn just in case this Warden was hostile, Morrigan muttered in a hushed voice about finding Wardens in dark places. Kornelius snorted briefly at that.

A thin man, hair long to his shoulders and beard overgrown to be unruly and possibly a finger's width long came out of the cell in the bloodied leathers, they didn't fit well and gaped on his form. But he was definitely a Grey Warden, stolen sword and dagger on his belt from the guard. "Ah, your timing was fortunate. That fellow Wardens would find me here is odd, but nevertheless not unappreciated." He bowed slightly and Loghain actually growled.

Kornelius burst into laughter. "That I found fellow Wardens where I was captured was a shock too brother!"

The man was Orlesian from his accent, and Loghain didn't mix well with Orlesians in the slightest. "What are you doing here?" Loghain asked pointedly, not concealing his malice in the slightest.

The Orlesian Warden took them all in. "Loghain Mac Tir? I had heard rumours but discounted them as hearsay amongst other things. And foolishly invited to dine, a poisoned chalice rendering me unconscious rather than killing me as I am sure you are aware that we cannot be poisoned into death." He looked earnestly sorry about that.

"These yours then?" Loghain held the vellum he'd stuffed down his chestplate out, Carver could barely see it but there was a silver embossed griffon on it.

"Yes, I sought to explain to one of these people leading the civil war that threatens this country that it is foolish to seek war with each other when there are such compelling reasons that the darkspawn should be at the forefront of our minds." His lips turned into a grim line. "But enough of such talk. I am Senior Warden Riordan of Jader."

"Bring any friends?" Loghain ground out as this Riordan took the burnt vellum.

"No, I was... alone in my efforts."

"Then get yourself to the Denerim Compound, get a bloody meal in you and we'll deal with this all when Howe's dispatched. Goodbye." Then Loghain watched as the Orlesian walked through them, when out of sight he just flicked a finger for them to travel deeper into the winding dungeons.

* * *

Dyrfinna stood at the railing, the accursed Tevinter they were after was a bald man with thick, neat beard and feathered shoulders, one side of the lower room with a barred cell, elves crammed in there uncomfortably - these clothed, likely to be shipped out soon enough but the chains and shackles still about their feet.

Slavery was wrong in every sense. Slavery for the fault of who you were born as even worse. No elf asked to be born as such, no dwarf, no human - they were all simply born into this world unknowing what fate had in store. That being ostracised for your birth and screaming poverty was a given for so many was cruel and shouldn't continue. Nothing relating to the Tevinters and their legacy should continue.

She would enjoy slowly killing this Tevinter.

"Ah, I heard you approaching, such rude manners when knocking would have sufficed." The bald Caladrius stood up from his chair, picking up his staff. Korth damn it she had waited too long in planning how to get through the five guards and the man they were after with what resources they had to deal with them.

"I killed my way through your guards. Every damned Tevinter in my path rotting behind me." She almost spat out the words. Caladrius did a double take, glancing between her murderous scowl and Thorvald's as well as Silmarwen's. If there was one enemy she was sure could instil fear in a Tevinter it was sure an Avvar. They must still tell the tales as they did of their war so long ago if this Maker and Andraste An Brona were even spoken of by lowlanders.

"Fasta vass! Avvar barbarians and an elf. I suppose this couldn't be resolved in a civilised manner then." He sighed dramatically.

Dyrfinna leapt over the railing, crashing through the table below and rolling to miss a greatsword swinging toward her. An arrow in the neck brought that man down though.

The swirling red mists of blood magic filled around Caladrius, the air becoming acrid and a pressure building in her ears, she moved quickly despite her heavy plate as he fended off the lightning and stone sent his way by Silmarwen, cutting down one of his guards with a forceful lunge of her sword through the chain in his gut.

This was more how the dwarven berserkers fought, rage fuelling their speed, pain a distant memory. She yanked her ancestral sword out and turned to find herself close to the Tevinter himself.

A tendril of blood-red mist latched around her, it felt like a crushing in her chest and head and she screamed. Thorvald sent an arrow at the Tevinter and the wound disappeared, instead showing up on the guard Asgrim had leapt over the railings to rip at his neck.

The mists abated a moment as Caladrius twirled his staff to fend off another flying rock in his direction, the bruise that appeared on his face from it appearing on his remaining guard. Pride is a downfall - he should have posted more guards if he thought to live through this!

The deadly dance of magic and blood magic crashed in her ears as she raged through the hold of it, the lightning thunderous in the small room, the rocks hitting the walls with cracks forming.

She found herself behind him and held her sword under his neck. "Now you die!" She laughed, pulling the sword across his neck so hard as to decapitate the bastard.

The wound showed up on his remaining guard instead of him. Damned Tevinters! She kicked him in the small of his back, his staff thrown away from him. He was on his own now and now he would suffer!

"This is for the elves!" She hissed, stomping on his outstretched hand for his staff, still bleeding where he'd cut it.

"This is for the binding away the Avvar Gods!" Dyrfinna chucked her sword down with a clatter at his feet, landing knees first on the shaman at his hips, her hands on his neck as she went to choke the life from him. He struggled against her desperately but she couldn't feel whatever he was trying to fight back with, so into her adrenaline and rage now.

"This is for every person who has fallen because of your tainted nature Tevinter!" The last part was punctuated with his neck snapping under the brute force, his blood fountaining out of his mouth in ghastly bubbles. She continued to crush downwards until Silmarwen and Thorvald were pulling her off his near decapitated by strangulation body.

Asgrim bounded over - the eternally happy hound licking the blood off her limp hands, the anger fading for the control she normally had to take place.

"You're fucking well haemorrhaging!" Silmarwen cursed, pointing at her stomach, her chain ripped to leave a bloody gash there. Caladrius had done that with his dagger most likely - but she hadn't even felt it. The elven shaman lit her hands in the weaker green healing magic, trying to staunch the bleeding somewhat. It turned into a weeping line, the blood still dripping into her chain, down her skin to drip hot trails down her legs but not gushing forth as it had before.

She reined her adrenaline to ignore it, the thump and haze still in the back of her mind as she surveyed everything. "Take his keys - free these elves." She ordered. Thorvald complied to it, taking the keys from the belt of the dead shaman and moving with purpose to have the elves file out into the bloody scene, murmuring about it as he went about unlocking the shackles from their feet as they passed him.

Eventually she saw a man with beige-yellow tasselled jacket walk past and it clicked in her head. "Cyrion?" She asked of the grey-haired elf. He looked over at her, confused but it was his name. "Your son asked me to find you and his cousin?"

"I'm over here!" An elf with reddy-brown hair stumbled through the huddled elves around them. "Soris Tabris." He breathed. "And thank the Maker... I mean thank _you_ that's over!"

"They still took Valendrian lad." Cyrion said sadly to Soris, his ears drooped in sadness. "What happens then now? Who are you? How is my son?"

Dyrfinna shook her head at his questions, glad the slavery here was done with for the time being. "In order, you are free - I have an idea for the betterment of the elves that will make you self-sufficient which I hope you will hear. Secondly, Warden-Commander Dyrfinna but you may call me Dyr if it suits you and Raighne is tending to the sick and rallying those that will speak out with his cousin Shianni. Would you know where the cure to the poison is?"

Cyrion furrowed his brow. "My boy, I'm so glad he's not in a bad way. As for the cure - they keep it in the cabinet over there." He pointed to a large cabinet on the wall. Silmarwen rushed over and stared at the rows and rows of simmering clear liquid, flecks almost made of light floating within.

"I'll take one of these back to the Warden Compound so Bethany and Kornelius can replicate the formula, there isn't enough to cure the whole Alienage and they'd need water that isn't fucking contaminated." The elf breathed, picking up the edges of her now bloody skirt and carefully placing the stoppered flasks inside.

"Once we were cured, the poison couldn't harm us any more!" One elf shouted out.

"Good news but the water you have to hand needs cleaning of the poison toxins." Dyrfinna sighed. "Let us get out of this place quickly, we have the evidence that the death of a man we are hunting is lawful and you are not to be slaves. The elves from this place are congregating at the Tabris household, as Raighne very kindly allowed. If we could all make our way there?"

It was like herding cats and her stomach lanced with pain. She would defer to Thorvald and Silmarwen to carry out her plans for any willing elves and go after Loghain with Asgrim in the Denerim estate of Howe. He would need the information she had.

* * *

Loghain carried on in the winding maze of tunnels, stumbling in on a torture of a man-child that turned out to be Oswyn, son of Bann Sighard - Bann of Dragon's Peak (actually on the further from the mountain that overshadowed Denerim, which was know both as Mount Drakon and Dragon's Peak but he wasn't going into that now).

Needless to say they slaughtered the torturers and freed the boy. Carver was to take him back up and out of the estate due to the horrid condition of his legs. He still had two mages to face Howe with when he finally found that viper.

* * *

Silmarwen demanded to go into the estate with Dyrfinna so she sent Thorvald with Asgrim and the bevy of elves that wanted honest work at the Compound with all the benefits such as a pay they'd never even thought possible for elves as well as the rooms, food and she may have also promised a nice uniform. Amethyne was so sweet, being gathered up in the former-servant and carpenter Cyrion's arms, the elder elf not complaining one iota if she was too heavy for him. Dyrfinna ruffled the girl's hair and she smiled so sweetly, her arms threaded around Cyrion's neck, the silver bangle still on her wrist so proudly.

It was also true that Silmarwen could also identify where a Warden was within about two hundred yards, which Warden it was and if she really focussed Dyrfinna would be sure the elven shaman could do the same to darkspawn.

Her sense of demons, theurges and taint sense was uncanny.

They found a bloodied up, painted lowlander that was a Warden on their way toward the estate who claimed Loghain himself had told him to go to the estate. Dyrfinna very formally stated she was the Commander and he very formally stated his name as Riordan - and that Loghain was within the dungeons of the estate after Howe as they spoke.

Dyrfinna didn't have time and hurried him along as he told of the quickest way into the maze of the dungeons. The two Wardens broke into a run to the estate.

* * *

Loghain got lost. This wasn't normally what he did, Maric got lost, fell off horses and generally charmed people. His job was getting them un-lost, keeping Maric on the bloody horses and being a grumpy git.

So Loghain was quite unfamiliar with the feeling. Morrigan had cackled about it and Kornelius said something about how he could feel magic, so whoever he could feel doing magic was likely knowledgeable about the layout here - but the way he tried to lead them ended at a barred end of another dark corridor.

* * *

Dyrfinna then stumbled into Carver almost carrying a protesting, half-naked and tortured man.

Loghain was still in the dungeons with only himself and two shaman against this Howe and three shaman as well as any other back-up the man might have. Ninny!

* * *

Loghain found a lyrium starved templar of all things. This one the brother of Bann Alfstanna of the Waking Sea! Howe was collecting nobles for some damned reason, and killing others.

The templar - Irminric didn't want to go, addled and lost in his own mind so much he just clawed at the walls - hoping it was lyrium and sucking on the dust and blood on his fingers in the hopes it was his fix.

It was a mercy the man was ended. Kornelius and Morrigan hadn't any lyrium on them to even attempt trying that option.

That the Chantry tied their templars so helplessly to them through their hold on all the lyrium coming out of Orzammar (at least legally) couldn't be a coincidence. They wanted an army of willing slaves for some reason and it couldn't end well. He'd seen what desperate mages did.

* * *

Silmarwen was more help than Asgrim would have been in hindsight as they made their way though the dungeons. She kept a ball of air in a glowing blue barrier above the stolen staff as her fire wasn't the best - so they had light. Had a ball of twine to get through the labyrinthine place.

And said she could feel Kornelius and Loghain, their movements ahead them somewhere.

* * *

"I tell you, I can fucking well feel them, hold your fucking horses!" That was their first indication this dead end wasn't fruitless after all because that was Silmarwen from the liberal curses and a taint sense stronger than the more senior Warden here.

Loghain turned to the direction of the voice when the tingle started in his spine.

The light at the end of the corridor held a sight he didn't want to see - a bloodied up pair of Wardens, one of them Finna with thick bandages around her middle - over her chain. If he'd told her once he'd told her a thousand times not to push herself if others could deal with things.

Nevertheless the three of them ran with a clatter of his armour and the bobbing light of Kornelius' staff. He didn't gather her up in his arms but crossed them instead in front of her. "Well, injured and following?" He ground out.

"To tell you something you ninny!" She scowled back at him. "Howe keeps three Tevinter shaman with him at all times. You have three people with you - we are the back-up. Everyone else is busy with the mess we uncovered in the Alienage - so let us find this Howe and his three shaman to be done with this!"

He hated it when she was right about something but he couldn't very well leave that Oswyn lad on his own - he might have never found him again in these blasted maze-like tunnels. "And I suppose you can lead us to Howe as well?" Loghain arched an eyebrow. "Also stop nicking my bloody words. You're the ninny here, running after us injured!"

Those honeyed eyes narrowed dangerously. "Silmarwen has felt the tainted magic for a while, we should be able to navigate somehow and we carried a string to get ourselves back out."

She turned, the 'Commander' in place at the moment rather than 'Finna' as she bid them all follow Silmarwen as she backtracked along her string.

* * *

He hated her being right. They found Howe with what couldn't be described as human, elven or dwarven any more it was so mutilated, the pressure in the air heavy from the blood magic performed. Howe himself seeming to take some sick pleasure just watching it.

"Rendon!" He roared Howe's first name as he stomped into the dingy room of the dungeons, flickering wall sconces upon the walls shedding some light here. Loghain fought the urge to slap his own face when he saw through an adjoining cell door the string the elven mage had wound down these dungeons stretching through the door in.

One long circle was what they'd travelled in. He should have brought Oghren. Dwarves had 'stone sense' underground and that had to be worth something. "Loghain?" The silver-haired man, more stain on Ferelden than patriot of the same country turned. "It's a shame isn't it?"

That took him off his guard. "What is?" He asked, still angry but willing to listen in the least to what the bastard would say. Finna and Silmarwen informed him in their walking of all the slavery, their plans for the elves and just how many elves had already been taken. His beloved Gwaren and the elves living there to have been next.

"Things turned out this way. Two old wardogs on opposite sides. Those Wardens you joined will turn on you - they'll be your death." Howe sneered. "You could have slunk off to the Anderfels with the rest of your kind but now you've gotten into something even you can't handle."

"You are insane!" Finna shouted, the end hoarse with pure, unadulterated anger.

"Ah, the new Warden-Commander. Such a pity you'll die just as quickly as everyone else here." Then Howe pulled out a wicked dagger from his hip sheath and a sword from the wall - that old speed he'd been renowned for still just as sharp.

Loghain ran forwards just like she did, only to be entrapped in the same red mist from the three damned blood mages.

The two warrior Wardens choked on the ground, the pain was unbearable, the fog and fiz in his head, the urge to vomit out all the contents of his stomach and Howe stepped over them. He could feel his skin ripping underneath the armour he wore, blood dripping hot against his skin. Loghain managed to look behind him as Silmarwen was in battle with one of the mages - lightning against fire. Morrigan with another, her orange entropy magic in battle with purple spirit magic. Kornelius stood there, his mouth in a small 'o' when he threw the staff down, a skull-like grin on his face. Finna wasn't struggling as much as him, on her hands and knees, steely determination as she inched toward Howe.

Kornelius' hands glowed with the opposite of light, so dark (dark blue if he wasn't mistaken) it sucked light away. The pressure in the air lessened and Loghain felt more than healed, almost younger, healthier and definitely not hurting in the slightest as it bathed over the room.

He looked over at Finna who was with eyes wide ahead her.

He followed her line of sight to see the three blood mages wasting away before their eyes, liquid seeping out of rips in their wrists that wasn't blood that was for sure, the smell of rot filling the air.

Howe collapsed, his legs wasted away. Well - Loghain asked for his end to be painful - judging by the look of pure hatred in his eyes that was the case.

He stood up remarkably easily - so much more than he'd done in a long time and held his sword over Howe's chest, angled downwards. "I used to have a semblance of respect for you." He growled.

"Maker - spit on you!" Howe retorted back, the pink non-blood coming out of his mouth now. "I deserved more!" The last part was a gurgled declaration and Loghain dropped downwards, the sword skewering the Arl of Denerim, Amaranthine and Teyrn of Highever all at once. He snatched the medallion off his neck and pocketed it. He'd get Anora to find Nathaniel or Delilah somewhere - the sins of their father shouldn't reflect on them. He would return it to them.

"Just what was that!" Finna's voice echoed in the room, directed at the Warden mage who'd done magic that even Loghain had never seen - and as of late he'd seen a lot more than he had before.

Kornelius slumped, looking drained. "Fucking Void! Look at Loghain!" Silmarwen gasped. Everyone did just that and he felt eyes being very intrusive in their gaze.

"I would say he looks ten years younger, if not fifteen. But twas not blood magic." Morrigan commented nonchalant, a sideways glance spared to Kornelius. Loghain put a hand up to his face, his skin feeling fuller - what could do that?

"What?" He furrowed his brow.

"I'll... I'll explain back at the estate. Suffice to say I saved his life. For now, we should get out." Kornelius breathed heavily.

* * *

As it turned out, the estate wasn't their next location. They got out of the dungeons the long way due to not being able to get past the barred side-door and were greeted by Sergeant Kylon with a compliment full of guardsmen armed to the teeth.

"In the name of the law I ask that the Wardens stand down." Kylon announced, clearly and rather boldly considering the blood and whatever else they were covered in. "This is a murder investigation and you will be met with resistance should you try to get out of arrest."

That was bloody quick! What and who did that? Did Howe have some alarm-bell that went off in the guardhouse for the case of his death? "I did it!" Finna stepped forward, looking back briefly at her Wardens. "Take me into what custody you would have me in but let my fellows go."

"Warden-Commander." Kylon sighed. "Dammit no-body makes my job easy."

"I did it too!" Loghain stepped forward, hoping they wouldn't have to kill the Sergeant to get out of the estate without being arrested.

"And who are you?" Kylon looked him up and down when his face froze. "You had better follow quickly because if I don't arrest you the bloody templars will."

The Commander and Constable of the Ferelden Grey Wardens were assured everybody else there would be escorted safely back to the Warden Compound - they were mages and therefore only slightly splattered in blood and unknown substances still. They could deny all involvement and were told to do so in a quick whisper from Finna to Silmarwen (with the superior elven hearing).

So they were lead in hand-cuffs. To Fort Drakon of all places.


	31. The Magic of Life and Death

Author note: Cliffhanger - you guys all love cliffhangers don't you?

I'm incredibly ill at the moment so if this chapter sucks do tell me and I'll re-write. Oh - remember I haven't done the Dalish treaty yet! That's a huge plot-point for me so just wait!

And got yet another idea for a story within the Tdotm universe - wonders will never cease. Check my profile for them as they'll keep abounding!

Oh - and damn you Magda! This is not a porno, I will not have cheesy comments made in future! Damnable muse has been relentless with making Loghain a plumber - "Do you have a leak or are you just happy to see me?" I may well have to kill my own muse and work on this alone. Damn muse! (for everyone who heard the voice of Simon Templeman/Loghain say that above piece of dialogue - I repeat the same question! *phwoar!*)

Hopefully

* * *

Of all the places to be imprisoned. Dyrfinna could almost laugh if not for the fact that she'd been knocked out with a powerful poison so designed for that purpose. They'd bound their wrists with clipping shackles and cut off her air by holding her nose. When she'd needed to breathe they'd stuck the pipe in directly to her throat - the poison poured through the pipe. It was a good kick she'd given Sergeant Kylon on the jaw. Loghain had knocked out a guard before they'd used a needle of some sort to inject him.

They'd gone peacefully!

Groggily she woke up, blinking past the flashing lights in her vision. "Good, didn't want to leave you alone here." She looked up and found herself stripped to her smalls and some sort of vest had been put on her?

"Loghain? How did you wake up first?" She croaked the words, raising her head. So they'd actually been put in prison. Interesting. She vaguely wondered if Thorvald had been to the guard barracks with the evidence they'd gathered in the Alienage. Their release would be pending and if Anora were half as protective of her father as he were her there might be a war on Fort Drakon soon enough.

"Luck." He shrugged, looking back over at the bars. "Now keep a look out for guards, we're getting out."

Dyrfinna sat up, pain lancing through her stomach - that would be the poison. Vile tasting stuff, her mouth tasted of vomit too. Good thing she hadn't choked on that before she'd awoken. "How?" She questioned. Both of them still had their wrists bound in the metal shackles, a short chain between them.

Loghain looked back at her - for some reason she wasn't sure about this new look of his. She liked him as he was before and still was incredibly attracted to the man but it'd been a shock to say the least! Korth's throne to suddenly be faced with a man she might not have recognised except maybe as a very good impersonator of the man with an uncanny ability to scowl like him. "Can you pick a lock?"

"No." She furrowed her brow, and exactly how would she do it with hands bound? "I have an idea, but I am sorry."

Loghain didn't ask, thank Sigfrost he could trust her as she could him! The guardsman came into the room, almost oblivious to what she was going to do. She almost felt sorry for the lowlander.

"Excuse me Ser!" She remembered a conversation a long time ago, with Morrigan - about how men viewed women as weak, snivelling creatures. Only capable of three things, two of which was cry and cook. It had been the basis of a shaky friendship if you could call it that, one of respect at least for each other and their skills - that and they'd both bemoaned something rotten during the weeks of little food and the non-shaman men going into the villages and hamlets to earn coin for food or food itself. The guard looked over at her, on her knees, hands reached through the bars as far as the chain between them would allow. "Please Ser! Can you please... I..."

Dyrfinna did her best impression of someone in dire need of help - and it seemed to work because he came over, very concerned. "What's the matter?" He asked, voice gruff and low. She took in a deep breath. It shouldn't be difficult.

"It has been so long Ser, so... so very long. I have never felt a man's touch. Please, just... a kiss? Before I am committed to die?" He looked shocked, his eyes trailing down her in the cell. Oh that wasn't a pleasant feeling.

"Really?" His tone was shocked to say the least but he edged closer. "Surely not a woman as, um... delectable as you?" Dyrfinna almost felt the scowl Loghain must have.

"None." She shook her head as if dismayed. "Who could when I am a..." She took in a deep breath, hoping not to grin and give it away. "A virgin?"

The man looked even more shocked and thankfully didn't seem to hear the vague snort by Loghain. "I am to be killed for what I have done - I do not wish to die that way." He neared closer to the bars until she could smell the cheese and ale on his breath. Just a little more.

His lips touched briefly to hers and she latched her hands around the back of his head before she jerked his head backward and then very forcefully forward into the bars, his nose breaking on impact with the bar.

He didn't get time to yell as she did it again, slamming his face into the bars, his eyebrow cut this time. Again, this time he managed to dribble blood from his mouth, a tooth shard coming out.

The last time knocked him out, he slumped as she was unable to hold his weight up from his head through the rusty bars. She looked behind her at Loghain with an amused expression on his face. "Necessary?" He uttered.

"Most lowlander men, as pointed out by Morrigan - believe women to have three states of being. Crying, cooking or to put it as Oghren would - donning the purple hat. I am sorry though."

"Nonsense. Very sensible." Loghain shook his head, snorting. "I did however almost laugh - and we may have to remedy that affliction of yours, can't have you dying like that now can we?"

Dyrfinna shook with silent laughter as she bent down, forcing both arms through the same gap in the bars to lift the guards keys from his pocket. "At the Warden Compound or will you bend me over a barrel?" She smirked, retracting the keys back into the cell. Loghain picked them up, holding the key in his mouth he undid his shackles then hers.

"Whichever opportunity comes first my dear." He whispered the words almost on her neck and she shivered. Seemingly satisfied with that Loghain moved away, damned man! Dyrfinna rubbed her wrists distractedly. "Did your plan go further than seduce the guard and get the keys?"

He was crouched at the cell door, fiddling with the lock, trying to figure which key was correct. "Find something to wear then run up all the stairs, ride a griffon to safety then shove you into a broom cupboard and confiscate your smalls?" Loghain's glance back at her was both annoyed and hopefully about the last part.

"I feel randier than a teenaged boy, stop riling me - whatever Kornelius did I'd have to say there doesn't seem to be any bad side-effects as of yet." Dyrfinna chuckled despite the situation and very carefully sauntered past him as he opened the cell door.

"What should we do about the guard?" She gestured over to the man with broken nose, out cold on the floor.

"Leave him." Loghain shrugged.

* * *

They managed to find some spare guard civvies in one of the storage rooms above the cell floor. Loghain thought about it and what were the chances of armour that would fit both of them - highly recognisable people due to either infamy or tattoo, so they could sneak out the front door?

It would have been a finger to stick up at the guards. It was definitely an experience though, he could swear he felt forty again, perhaps slightly younger...

And being a Grey Warden didn't help matters because the Warden hunger wasn't just for food. It was almost Maker-sent getting some clothes on. What had Kornelius done? That magic had bathed the whole room - sucked the very life-force from the blood mages and Howe in a rather grotesque way.

And it felt like more than being healed. Morrigan had said it wasn't blood magic... so what in the Void was it? Kornelius'd said it saved his life...

Finna pounded up the stairs in front of him, the sight of taut buttocks in his line of sight was rather distracting truth be told from figuring what had happened. "This is easier without our heavier armour, no?" She grinned back, cheeks flushed from the running.

They could get people running after them at any point - they had been periodically checked on in that cell before Finna woke up. "Much." He answered her, overtaking her on the stairs.

Only one more floor.

They came to the rooftop and the sight of the assorted Avvars brushing down the griffons for the night, covering the giant mountain cat/eagles in fur blankets and setting a campfire. "Korth's throne!" One of them shouted at them.

"No need to panic brother." Finna breathed, catching her breath. "Could we borrow a griffon for to return to the Grey Warden Compound?"

The mage 'Jarl' from before - damned if Loghain remembered his name was coming over. "What happened?"

"Nothing the clans need concern themselves with, suffice to say we need a griffon." She answered him. Good call - if these people knew Finna'd been poisoned and thrown into a cell because they'd killed a man guilty of slaving contracts there could be an incident.

"Dyrfinna!" A fluffy ball of white coat and gingery-blonde hair came running from the campfire and latched around Finna's middle. "And... The Dragon Warrior?" She turned her freckled face toward him, a brow arched. "Some powerful magic was used here elders... may I examine the dragon warrior to find out what happened?"

Loghain watched as the skinny girl walked over, her little hand covered in blue light and she raised it as high as possible as to be roughly as high as his heart, her brows furrowed together and she stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, her blue light shining brighter. She hummed, her mouth opening until it wasn't her voice coming out of her mouth but something much deeper. "The magic of life and death, this has been used on you - the effects... are far reaching as to have reversed your biological clock to a time of twelve and a half years past." The girl slumped down, her light extinguished, her little face scrunched up.

"Lowenna!" Finna rushed forward and cradled the young thing as Loghain did. "Shhh, you should not use your powers so much." She rocked the young mage in her arms, hand behind her head like a babe.

"Magic of life and death?" Loghain queried, looking up at the Jarl.

"Ancient magics, not of the Tevinters but as powerful, if not more than they. The shaman that did this to you has crossed into the dreamworld without being a spirit walker to pluck the strings of a life-force and imbued it with your own. In effect - it is as if the last twelve years have not happened to your body dragon warrior." He said solemnly. "I would meet with this shaman and have them drawn and quartered for disturbing the dreamworld."

"My Wardens are under my wing. No such thing will happen Kell Ar Marlena." Finna hissed, still rocking the young mage. "There are many things horrible in this lowlander world but the darkspawn are beastly enough that even such power must be used against them."

"Even Tevinter magic!" The Jarl glared at her.

"If needs be." Finna said with anti-climatic quietness, a scowl worthy of etching glass at him. "If the ends of the Tevinter Old God Urthemiel are brought about by their own magic then I laugh at them! Perhaps then Imhar will use his cunning to find our own bound Gods! Perhaps Sigfrost will divulge where they were hidden and his lover Uvolla will return!"

They squared off for a moment when Lowenna put her hand up, touching Finna's cheek then beckoned the Jarl over wordlessly. "See from each other's eyes." She whispered.

The two Avvar jolted a moment before just looking at each other, as if a thousand conversations had happened at once. "Sorry." They both said at the same time.

"You wished a griffon?" The Jarl stood with a click of his joints. "You will not have time to saddle up or put on harness but you may take one." He clicked his tongue and a great black and white piebald griffon shook of his covers, ambling ungracefully over, head cocked to the side in question.

Where griffons as smart as mabari? "Their night vision is highly sought after." Lowenna smiled, curling out of Finna's arms to sit back down at the campfire with the other Avvars. Loghain noticed she was the only child here. Where was her mother? The man she sat with was not her father from what he remembered but a huge, muscle-bound man in thick leathers and furs.

The two Wardens approached the griffon together and it rubbed it's great head on their cheeks, purring like a cat with cream. "You both have great affinity to these noble beasts." The Jarl said. "I wish to say sorry... Loghain. I... I understand now that not all lowlanders are so barbaric."

Loghain looked behind him to see Lowenna and the muscle-bound man approaching them. "Would you like help up onto the griffon?" The man asked, his face was marked with the Hakkon banding - same as Finna. He didn't even need to ask about that because of the Ash Warrior ritual they'd given Carver. Although this man was almost white-blond his band was a bright orange in colour. Was that a thing too? Did they get specific colours or was it just pick out of a selection they could make?

"Torbjorn!" Finna gave the man a hug. "So good to see you hale!" The man chuckled, hugging back.

"And you too Dyrfinna." He laughed. "And the dragon warrior, Loghain Mac Tir." He looked over at him, releasing Finna and extending a hand. Loghain took it, receiving a strong shake. "Korth's strength to you."

"I suppose to you too." Loghain pursed his lips. "And just how are we getting up onto the griffon?"

He looked back toward the griffon that was stretching out his wings, white glinting in the moonlight and black matte to almost be invisible. Torbjorn laughed and laced his fingers as he knelt down on one knee, splaying his hands out to be stood on.

Finna knew the drill obviously, placing her boot on his splayed hands and he launched her upwards to land on the griffon's back. The griffon startled as she moved about, holding onto a rein attached to the bit Lowenna had scurried off and given to the Jarl to have the griffon bite into.

Torbjorn knelt again and tilted his head for Loghain to do the same. Loghain looked warily at the outstretched hands and put a hand on the shoulder of the griffon as he put foot to hands.

The man lifted him easily - shockingly and he launched with a thud behind Finna on the griffon. There wasn't anywhere to hold onto now. Oh Maker...

"This is going to kill us." He said negatively as Finna nudged her knees into the griffon, leaning on her shins. He held tight around her waist as the griffon started the gambolling run toward the edge of the rooftop.

Here goes nothing!

His stomach almost left his mouth when the griffon just took a running leap into the cold night air, dropping as gracelessly as a stone, the far-away gas lamps that lit the city getting ominously closer.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Loghain made the quickest prayer in history as he lifted off the griffon, knuckles white as he held around Finna's waist. She had lifted off the griffon too - held onto their ride off Fort Drakon by the reins.

Shit, shit, shit! _Please Maker, should I live I will do whatever you want. Just tell me and you wish is my command. _He swallowed the bile in his throat, his life flashing in front of his eyes.

Then the griffon beat it's wings. Once. Twice. They both landed with a thump on the oily feathers of it's back, Loghain huffed a sigh of relief. "That was so much fun!" Finna screamed, the cold air whipping her straw-blonde hair into a frenzy behind her. Loghain grumbled. Not fun. Bloody scary was what he thought.

Men his age didn't need shocks like that. Their hearts might give out on them.

Now, with the griffon beating at a steady pace, gliding with innate fluency on the air currents it was quite nice he supposed. Held tight to Finna, the woman herself laughing. It was quite something to see Denerim at night.

They glided over the rooftops, the talons of the griffon's forelimbs skating a tile off a roof and smashing into the cobbles below. A dog started barking at that. Oops!

The griffon sped up, the chilly air whipped around the duo as they soared upwards into the pinpricked sky. It squalled it joy, the sound piercing the quiet of the night.

So much for a silent prison escape. Damned plan. But what a prison escape. One day this would be pure fantasy for people, bound in thick leather tomes and here; Loghain, Warden-Constable of Ferelden and Hero of River Dane was up in the air on one of the magnificent beasts.

"The Compound is only a minute away. Hold tight!" Finna shouted back to him. Loghain nodded despite the fact she couldn't see and the two of them jointly held onto the griffon with their legs, ducking close to the body of the beast as it started the plummet onto the surprisingly small rooftop garden of the Compound.

They rose up as the plummet continued, Loghain wished to latch his fingers into the feathers themselves and his hands shook with the force of holding so tight to Finna's tunic. The griffon squalled again and beat it's wings fiercely against their direction of travel, slowing them considerably before the duo crashed forward off the landed griffon into the stone floor of the Compound rooftop.

"We should do that again." Finna groaned as she got up, rubbing her hip. Loghain moaned and picked himself up. Ow.

"No. The Archdemon or bust." He wiped his fingers through his wind tousled hair, an eyebrow arched at the crazy Avvar woman dusting herself down. She giggled and the sound was almost musical to his ears.

"Fucking Void - I..." The two of them whipped around to see Silmarwen red in the face and panting at the doorway to the rooftop garden. "You really weren't lying about having a griffon! Fucking awesome! Can I ride him? How was prison? I found out what in the Void Kornelius did, little lying wanker."

"Slow down Mari." Finna put her hands out to still the excited elven mage.

"I see a griffon! How can I slow down?" She bubbled over with energy.

"We shall ride the griffons tomorrow - all of us after we have cleared our names of wrongful murder. We have twenty. For now - take us to Kornelius, we have been given some interesting news from a shaman friend of ours over what exactly has happened to Loghain."

"And prison?" Silmarwen grinned.

"I was hardly there but surprisingly easy to escape from." Finna shrugged. "Very Tevinter but it is a Tevene structure."

"You described Kornelius as a lying wanker?" Loghain interrupted the women.

"Yeah, you two best get into the dining room. He's babbling about a mistake, the Fade, life-strings and it's all in Nevarran so if you need a translator - hint hint." Silmarwen nudged Finna in the ribs with an elbow.

"You are a font of knowledge." She smirked at the mage.

"I prefer sewer of knowledge, Carver thinks I have a mouth like a sewer pipe." Silmarwen giggled. "The griffon... will he be alright up here?"

"Thorvald should know how to bed down a griffon." Finna assured her.

* * *

Dyrfinna saw the man she had in the dungeons, hollow-eyed and almost weeping, his eyes wide as he looked around the stormy faces of the Wardens around him.

"So... could you explain. Silmarwen can translate for you if it is easier." She said softly. He may have been described as a lying wanker but he was one of her Wardens and she felt such protectiveness over each of them.

Kornelius looked up, switching between her and Loghain, eyes fearful when his mouth opened and the words just babbled out. "Ich kann nicht glauben, ich rutschte, nach so langer Zeit diese Lebens-Linien direkt vor mir waren."

"I can't believe I slipped up, after so much time those life-lines were just in front of me." Silmarwen translated quickly. "Could you elaborate? Könnten Sie das näher erläutern?"

"Ja ... in meiner Muttersprache Nevarran Ich bin, was wird als Mortalitasi, ein Tod Magier bekannt." Kornelius sighed, putting his head in his hands. "Ich habe gelogen, um Ihnen alles über so viel."

"Yes... in my native Nevarran I am what is known as a Mortalitasi, a death mage. I lied to you all about so much." Silmarwen sighed. "A death mage is a position of political power in Nevarra, they prepare the bodies of people recently deceased into mummies by removing all internal organs and fluids by forcefully using their magic to disolve it into a viscous fluid and... it exits the body from the orifices or cuts - like the blood mages in Howe's dungeons in their wrists. Before you say anything - I know about Mortalitasi, they're the opposites of blood mages, their spirit or soul must remain free in order to guide the soul of the departed to the Fade. What I'm confused about is Loghain..."

"We can clue you in here. In Finna's clan there's a little girl, a... dreamer? Like Mahariel." Loghain stated.

"A Somniari." Silmarwen clarified.

"Who rides the griffons and provides updates about the boarder through her father who's also a mage." Loghain added. "She... wants to be a healer. I believe Bethany lent her some books."

"I did." Bethany nodded.

"Her... mentor?" Loghain looked over at her questioningly.

"Jarl Kell Ar Marlena leads Griffon Hold. I believe the Old Ferelden translates as Arl, much like Thane translates to Teyrn." Dyrfinn supplied. "Lowenna An Elsa is to move to Wyvern Hold - a very secretive Hold just between the boarder of Orlais and Ferelden to be the lookout of Tevinters for the Avvar - like the ancient piles of wood outposts that would be kept as beacons throughout the mountains as a relay for war, except much faster. It is not often the Avvar leave their Holds but we have fought mental war with their shaman for more than there has been history."

"Did they get attacked by Orlesians too?" Loghain queried.

"No. As is superstition they created what is known as the 'Cult of the Lady of the Skies' and the Oss Clan have ambassadors that go into lowlander territory to spread word of their entire clan having turned to asps and eagles having carried them away. No attacks would ever happen there." Dyrfinna felt like she was betraying her people with divulging that information but it was necessary.

"All right. Well Lowenna is one of these Somniari and this Jarl explained what she saw when she did some rudimentary healing as an examination. Apparently-" Loghain was cut off.

"Er lag im Sterben und als Heiler ich zufällig sah seine Lebenskraft ins Wanken. I erfüllt die Sterbenden mit seiner und eine Art von Macht wurde entfesselt." Kornelius blabbered.

"He was dying and as a healer I accidentally saw his life-force falter. I imbued the dying ones with his and some sort of power was unleashed." Silmarwen translated.

"Es war ein Unfall und ich fürchte, ... es war, als ob ich seine biologische Uhr umgekehrt." Kornelius drooped in his chair.

"It was an accident and I fear... it was as if I reversed his biological clock." The elven shaman sighed.

"I lied about being put in the circle too. I left my native Nevarra for a woman I met in a diplomatic visit to Ferelden. We settled in Rainesfere and she never knew I was a mage. She was dying in childbirth when the templars burst in because of the very true rumours about a mage in the village. I snapped and did as I did today with one of the templars, restoring hers and my daughters life with that of one of the templars." Kornelius had switched back into Ferelden, not bothering to conceal his accent. "She declared me a monster and had the templars take our child to the Chantry there. I went... without complaint. They were going to kill me and I didn't care. Kherek was passing through and conscripted me into the Grey Wardens. He'd once been a member of the Legion of the Dead so was going on an early Calling."

"Kherek went just before Ostagar I think..." Alistair said quietly. "Never saw anyone so happy about it."

"Yes. I survived the Joining but attracted too much templar attention. The Legion asked for a group of Wardens willing to die to help them and I was placed in that group, three going to their Calling and me - too upset to care if I was using my Mortalitasi powers in public. We were set up, a templar had infiltrated the ranks - called Ser Colin. He wanted to join us and the others died when 'bandits' attacked. So many. I used my powers and the templars turned on me - including Ser Colin may he rot where I killed the bastard."

Kornelius' eyes were bloodshot. "They took me to Aeonar because it's against Chantry rules to take a mage Warden taken to the circle and they didn't want me poisoning the mages there. I flipped out and killed so many of them in there. I was smited within an inch of my life-thread. Beaten to a pulp until I had enough mana to halt my own breathing. I was put in the pile for the furnace and escaped into the ventilation system, biding my time for escape. I swore for so long Duncan and Lucien had tried to get me killed from the moment Ser Colin was put in the same troop as me. I was going to... it doesn't matter. They're both dead, I'm not grieving any more but I vowed... never, ever to do it again. I wanted to be a healer."

"A spirit healer hears the voice of a spirit in the Fade. They promise to protect what's good to gain the extraoridinary healing skills." Bethany sighed. "I call mine Patience, she was a good mentor."

"Endurance." Kornelius looked up at the Warden healer. "I thought I had thrown the shackles of my life as a Nevarran away. That I was Ferelden, a healer - when I could escape I would re-join the Wardens and become what they had wanted of me. I could still fight with my Elementalism skills of fire and ice... the lure of Death Magic is powerful."

"I thought it was illegal even in Nevarra to use it to kill, it's just to prepare the dead." Silmarwen said gently.

"No, not in the slightest. Half the bodies in the Necropolis are political enemies of the Pentaghast family. It is however illegal to be used in every other country other than Nevarra and Tevinter. It doesn't require lyrium but pure light. Nobody can stop that, nobody can keep the trading contracts for light. Nobody is addicted to it. But the power of Death Magic - of knowing that all it takes is a brief flicking of one's hand and the intent - and you hold life and death between your fingers. Perhaps it was my training as a healer that caused my... problem that changed Loghain."

Kornelius looked as if his entire life had crumbled. Dyrfinna was shocked. "Could you do it to the Archdemon? From a distance or does it require physical closeness?"

"Not the Archdemon. It is a God after all. I could cripple it badly but yes - physical closeness." He smiled briefly. "Is that... that could work!" He looked shocked that it had only just been mentioned. "We have so... so much weaponry against that Archdemon it won't know what hit it!"


	32. What Must Be Done

Author note: The concept of coin in Ferelden is odd. We know an ale is 2 coppers, mead is 3 coppers (see Tapsters on the wikia) So why would a cutting of elfroot be so much, and a rucksack 7 sovereigns?

In the City Elf Origin they're given 40 silver as a wedding present that would set them up for a house etc that's been saved since they were young. It's enough to buy a house in the Alienage (although I'd assume the landlord would overcharge an elf for what house they'd have for sale).

The little boy in Lothering is ecstatic to get a whole silver. You've given him a lot of coin comparatively.

Therefore a monthly wage isn't much - Ferelden is quite a poor country in comparison to say Tevinter where they buy lives for (in accordance to Tdotm canon) up to two-hundred sovereigns. Even in Kirkwall they're richer by far where a mansion/estate is I'd say about 90 sovereigns.

Ferelden is a poor country next to the others. It makes sense to have a full outfit for everyday wear being about twenty/thirty coppers. Wages are enough to buy food, clothing and rent - it has to be.

Wardens only get 5 silver as a stipend (and although the Ferelden Wardens don't know - they get food etc for free as well as owning their compounds and fortresses.) They're not rich people, it's a horrid job they do and in other countries I'd assume the stipend is greater (which will get a scrutiny. Ferelden get's a bad rap by the Wardens all in all especially around the Blight and Thaw).

I hope that makes sense. Swords and armour will not be sovereigns in expense here unless made of rare, difficult to forge materials which will be rare in this. Dragons are difficult to kill without making a lot of holes for your drakeskin or scale armour. As for bone - pfft! Difficult to extract and carry!

* * *

Dyrfinna had had a long day. Too long.

It had started by sensing darkspawn, fighting the horrid creatures and getting just a little tipsy with Oghren afterwards. Dwarven ale was dark as sin and gritty with dirt but by Hakkon you had to have a wicked stomach to drink that elixir of the Gods themselves. That was reason enough to keep the drunken dwarf other than that he was a Warden too and his skills as a berserker were unparalleled in their power. Oghren was a true diamond in the rough.

Then arriving in Denerim, meeting Anora - flying griffons and lunch of Denerim Fried Chicken.

Then the Alienage. Korth's throne the Alienage! Killing the thrice-damned Tevinters there then ending the puppetmaster Rendon Howe, which should hopefully end the civil war in some respects and help Anora.

Being imprisoned, escaping on a griffon. Finding out Kornelius was a shaman of life and death - a 'Mortalitasi'.

It was dark out. It had been dark since their escape from Fort Drakon and there was still matters to attend to. The elves had arrived at the Compound and been fed, washed and Bethany had been busy with sorting out the potions to cure the poisoning, it was the at least but the other Wardens could have done but other than that they weren't sure what to do. Dyrfinna sighed, picking up the loaf of crusty bread, popping ripped morsels in her mouth as she walked. It was only slightly stale from being over a day old but it was tasty, full of grains and seeds.

Loghain looked just as tired as she did if truth be told yet he soldiered on beside her, nicking some of her bread. "The elves then. I suppose you have a cunning plan?"

"More cunning than a fox blessed by Imhar." Dyrfinna grinned, her cheeks stuffed with bread at that precise time. She swallowed roughly. "Carruthers informed me that they would rather help themselves than be given help. Else it would be an unending cycle of being helped by humans and being seen as lazy or second-grade. I intend to give each of these elves a job that is equal to a human here in the Compound, receiving the same 'stipend'... that is the right word?"

"Yes, stipend or wage." Loghain nodded.

"Same stipend as a Warden while we are in residence here. For just keeping it running it will be halved as the work will be lighter. But as cooks for our enormous appetites, seeing to having a small vegetable and herb garden on the rooftop rather than those stupid ornamental bushes. Clothing and laundry, maintenance of armour, clothes, animals and weapons. With the work during the Blight these jobs need doing if we should have time to train, exercise and fight darkspawn. We have a willing workforce that needs an equal pay. I also decided that these duties will require them to be housed in part of this enormous Compound. Much too large for our needs currently at least and we have the Orzammar Commpound to fill too but that is currently staffed and paid for by the King."

"And the money for this Compound will be coming from where?" Loghain arched an eyebrow at her.

"Thorvald carried the potions to cure the poisoning that happened to the elves as well as every item of worth and scrap of coin from the Tevinters. We place the coin back into circulation, paying it to the elves and towards the food and other items required by our armies we are garnering. I also hope to have a production of poisons, potions and other items for sale too, which will bolster that." She nodded and ripped a hunk of the bread, chewing it quickly. "I will have to look at how the stipends were available to be given to the Wardens but we should earn extra coin to supplement it."

"For someone who didn't know what coin was, you certainly picked it up." Loghain commented, a wry smirk on his face.

"I understood trade. I merely replaced say trading a cloak for a box of candles or a few pails of milk with coin. As to value I am still clueless, never you fear there." She chuckled back.

"So we're pioneers of equal rights for elves. Perhaps they'll need a voice too?" Loghain seemed to think aloud before taking a large portion of the remaining bread, holding it possessively but eating it slowly.

"You have an idea there?" She asked.

"The Alienages of the cities aren't considered part of it. Even in census the elves aren't properly counted. They're almost separate villages or towns within where they are. So why not have Bann that has a vote for all the elves in the Landsmeet?"

"I do not understand." Dyrfinna furrowed her brow. "Is it similar to the deshyrs in Orzammar that represent the dwarven houses?"

"In a way." Loghain pursed his lips. "In Ferelden the country is ruled by the monarch - King and or Queen of Ferelden. Teyrns and Arls hold power over the smaller areas of land."

"I understood that."

"And Banns even smaller portions." He continued. "But the monarch holds votes every year with each of the Teyrns, Arls and Banns arriving in Denerim, combined they have power to overturn a bad decision made by the monarch."

"And having a voice in this vote would be undoubtedly good. But they would need be a good... Bann - or else it would be a fruitless endeavour." She agreed somewhat to the point Loghain was making.

"So have an elf as the Bann." Loghain said, a sideways glance at her.

"I think that would be wonderful. We should ask the elves who they would have represent them." Dyrfinna grinned. Loghain sighed. "It will not be that easy will it?"

"Most people do still think of elves as second-class citizens." He uttered.

"I found this." She went to rifle in her pocket for that disgusting poster about elves carrying weapons. Her armour! Her weapons!

"We need to get back into Fort Drakon. Now." She turned to him, wide eyed and completely serious.

"Not now, why?" Loghain looked so tired.

"My... my ancestral sword!" She nearly hissed the words.

"We'll clear our names in the... later morning considering the time and have our things returned. Don't worry." Loghain sighed.

Dyrfinna relented. He would know. "I trust you then. But should I need a new sword it will be tested on that Sergeant first."

* * *

The elves were restive in the empty wing of the Compound. Shianni had gotten word to Erlina about the plans and the Orlesian handmaiden of the Queen was in a frittered state, trying to get order amongst some scared and some still too shocked to process everything. It was pandemonium of a sorts but Shianni felt... safe. The things the Wardens had done so far and what had been promised. Amethyne was latched into any waiting arms, worried since word had got to them about the capture of the Commander.

The only thing that was consensus was that it was a _job_, with equal pay to a human. There were sceptical voices amongst the crowds that were overruled by others stating being freed and the slavers killed as proof the Grey Wardens wouldn't harm them.

And others saying that this is what slavers would do too - shut down one operation to take it over themselves.

A hush fell over the room as two, plain-clothed but obviously the same Wardens entered the room.

Commander and... Loghain Mac Tir! Shianni glanced over at Raighne and Cyrion. They both knew that the Teyrn was trustworthy because of her late Aunt Adaia. She had always spoken well of her time in the Night Elves.

"Shianni, Raighne, Cyrion!" The Commander greeted them like a friend would and little Amethyne ran up to the tattooed woman who gathered her up tiredly. "Amethyne... oh I am so glad to see you with some food in you."

Amethyne didn't say anything, nuzzling her little hazelnut coloured head into the circle of arms. The Commander picked the little elf girl up easily, sitting her on a thrust out hip, one arm crooked around her. "I was informed that matters were not made clear today and wished to speak to you all. You can make up your own minds as to whether you wish to take the offer."

Shianni watched as many sat down, waiting for what would be said. This was so unusual. It was almost as if they were spoken to as an equal. Loghain stepped forward. "Before Finna puts her foot in it, this is a job we're offering. Putting you where you'll fit better, not where we need someone." The Teyrn pursed his lips and mouthed what looked like a 'sorry' at the narrowed glance sent his way.

"Yes. This is a job. My terms are that if you have the skill or wish to learn the skill for work you can and will be placed in the position. Your wage will be equal to that of a Grey Warden monthly stipend when we are in residence as the workload will be undoubtedly greater. This is five silver coins. When not here, the wage will be half that. Our first needs at this moment will be cooking, buying of provisions and other items required, making a garden upon the roof, animal husbandry and people able to make potions and other usable items for the war against the darkspawn. You will all be fed here without that price coming from your pay as well as housed here should you wish, also not deducted from your pay."

Silence covered the room. "Need a tailor? Those uniforms need someone." Raighne asked aloud. "And Nessa is a talented kennel worker... so..."

"I am." Nessa, once bridesmaid to Valora and Nessiara nodded, gulping. "I worked at Arl Urien's estates before... everything."

"Could you learn to work with griffons?" More silence, broken by Amethyne laughing softly. Loghain coughed, the silence ensuing again. "Griffons are not extinct and the Grey Wardens will have thirty to tend to, twenty for now, at first you will be helped by the Avvar clansmen that care for them presently but eventually you should be adept enough to care without their help. As every Warden will show the elves respect, as will the Avvars you will work with. We also plan on getting cattle and goats so we have a steady supply of milk and cheeses to keep not only ourselve but the workforce about the Compound healthy."

"Really?" Shianni asked aloud. "Not to sound ungrateful but it sounds too good to be true."

Loghain leaned over to the Commander and whispered something quickly. "And we can draw up contracts. Those that are illiterate can be taught to read."

"We're also going to petition about having a Bann in charge of the Alienages." Loghain said. There was a cough in the back of the room as that washed over. "An Elven Bann." He clarified. "Their duties would be voting in the Landsmeet and making sure that the coin given by the crown goes to good use in cleaning and repairing what needs be done as well as education, charity and any other matters that they would deem fit. We'd ask you pick yourselves to have a person capable of doing these tasks."

There was a general glancing over at a particular grey-haired elf that was having a tassel on his jacket stitched back on. Raighne backed away as if a child being told off. Shianni rolled her eyes, Raighne's fist proper garment he'd made was for Uncle Cyrion and he was always mending a tassel it seemed. "Dad, think that fits you? ... because a lot of very hopeful eyes suddenly got turned your way." The half-Rivaini chuckled hesitantly.

"Only... only if you think it best. But we're without a Hahren. And the slavery wiped out two of the Alienages." Cyrion gulped, his shoulder slumping. "Shianni - you'd be a better Bann - if it even happens."

"No." Shianni put her hands up as attention was switched over to her. "You saw what happened at the wedding. I get one arse shem come near me and they won't be an arse shem much longer. Make me Hahren, at least I'd only be involved with purely the Denerim Alienage but under no uncertain terms will I-"

"All right Shianni, you made you point." Cyrion sighed. "Very well. Do we need to make the choice over the job today or can we have some time to decide?"

The Commander took a deep breath, as if thinking a while. "I would ask that come morning after a breakfast you start in any positions you can order yourselves into, or try to as best as possible. You will be paid but you have a month to decide if it is right or not for yourself. Two months on our end to see if it works. If it does not we could give a small amount of money to those who lose the job for until they can find new work. Would that be agreeable?"

The unofficial Bann nodded firmly. "Then get some sleep." Loghain uttered. "And no, the girl stays here." He said to the Commander.

"But!" the Commander blinked tiredly. "Stay with Shianni Amethyne, I shall see you in the morning." The little girl was begrudgingly put down, her braided and cleaned hair ruffled affectionately. "Good night noble children of Shartan. If you need me please knock on my door or I should leave a note on where I will be within the office of the Commander."

And with that - the two Wardens left the room. "Bann, Hahren, more than equal pay with so many... benefits." Cyrion breathed. "I want to believe it so much. That this is the start of something wonderful for us."

"She forgot the uniforms. I'll have to make a prototype and parade it about." Raighne joked. It had been so long since Shianni had seen her cousin joke so whole-heartedly with everything that had happened as of late. "I'll be going back to the Alienage to see Soris, Valora and my wife though. Maker, I hope they're alright."

* * *

Loghain curled around Finna in the overly large bed, tired to his bones. "You're quite attached to that little girl." He commented into her hair.

He fought the overwhelming tiredness, knowing the nightmares would start soon enough. No rest for the wicked as it were. "Amethyne's mother has been taken by slavers or is dead. I... I gave her Thorarin's baby band. The elves should not see humans as people who shove a sick, twisted authority over them or as horrid people just of base desires. It makes us no better than the Tevinters they were freed from."

"I quite agree." Loghain rumbled, pulling the warm body closer, his hands settling naturally on the muscled clinch of her waist and his chin just at the nape of her neck. Her fingers intertwined with his under the coverlets.

"So why does it continue?" Finna mumbled sleepily.

"Because people don't know better, they see what's there and let in continue rather than changing things or getting involved." He muttered back, too tired to explain.

"They should. I would. I will." She nodded with each declaration.

"I'm sure you will." Loghain took in a deep breath. "Now sleep before I forcefully make you shut up."

"Rude. Korth damned lowlander." She giggled, falling silent after that.

"Thrice damned Avvar." The Fade beckoned with every warm breath taken, the rhythmic rise and fall of it was so lulling.

* * *

Dyrfinna awoke to find not only that the elves that has slept in the empty wing of the enormous Compound were eager, awake and already trying to place themselves into working formation. But there was a line of elves already outside the door wanting to be interviewed (which needed to be clarified for her - they made a point of their merits and she was supposed to yay or nay a position working in the Compound for them. Headaches!).

The first day of having servants hadn't gone too well so far. The first problem had been sitting to see sketches and sketches and prototype servant uniform. Dyrfinna thought Raighne was perhaps too enthusiastic about his job, but he was also a dab hand with fixing leather, had the steady hand-eye coordination to embroider names into socks (and was that needed! Korth damn it - it was needed. Even after a load of laundry done in a creek with lye soap you didn't want to get Alistair's socks!).

Then there was a squabble over who would be the head cook and the kitchen assistants. The head cook was now Faygun Sandwich, a slightly tubby elf with the brightest red-hair that it rivalled Oghren in intensity, that said the oddest things about spices and herbs she'd never heard of. But the elf was so, so amazing with his biscuits. Because word of the jobs had swept over the Alienage during the night the Faygun had made biscuits out of carrot peelings and dried ginger that had been crushed into powder. He proved that no matter the ingredients he could cook. Yes. That was why he got to be head cook and also why he had a black eye.

His head kitchen assistant (Cole - orphan and that right hook was worthy of a proper scrapper according to Loghain), had given Faygun that black eye. And so came having to discipline the new people in their employ. He was ordered to pot scrubbing for a week.

Then there was cleaning staff. Raighne's wife Nessiara was put into the position of house-keeper. The Tabris family had temporarily moved into the Compound because Soris' wife had passed in their house during the night despite the potion to cure her advanced poisoning. That might have explained why the Tabris family were so thrown into working. Nessiara had made a list of cleaning materials that worked from the cheapest items.

Then there was the matter of the griffon handlers because they couldn't keep her fellow Avvars in the lowlands forever. Nessa had indeed been skilled in gaining the trust of all the griffons as they were brought into the courtyard. There were quite a few elves who had been very good with the majestic beasts. They were naming them... that could only go well! But the lead griffon handler was an elf call Ollisinder, blind as a bat but the sharpest hearing in Thedas. The griffons were more that attached to the elf when he threw a rabbit or rat carcass at them with startling accuracy. It was like he had a connection to the wild creatures of Thedas like the tales and ballads of old about the children of Shartan.

Kylon had brought back their armour and weapons after that. He had the decency to look apologetic about the whole fiasco. But the Queen, Alistair, Thorvald, Bethany and that Richard person the Queen had mentioned in their meeting yesterday had all been at the guardhouse at some point last night demanding their release. Loghain was shocked so many people other than his daughter cared. Dyrfinna called him a ninny and said more people cared about him than he thought.

It was busy a morning on the whole, writing out contracts with a 'Seneschal'. This a rail-thin, greasy brown haired man called Victor with thick dwarven spectacles that perched on the end of his hooked nose, a nasal voice and a mind filled with law and 'accountancy' - whatever that was. Loghain hadn't even been able to explain what Victor had said about that. He'd be in charge of the coin and 'financial' matters of the Wardens. Currently the only human working in the Compound but he was more than at home working with the elves - his wife was elven.

The afternoon was slightly different. That was for keeping fit.

Loghain took charge, he was going to 'break' them like he did recruits in the elite army troops called Maric's Shield.

The Wardens did lap after lap around the courtyard, weaving in and out of the griffons being tended to there, dropping to 'give Loghain twenty' whenever he barked the orders, crunches, exercises meant to keep them limber, more running, more push ups. Loghain then made them all put on their armour and repeat it. Twice. Three times. Then baths - much needed baths.

The groaning and sweat was a cacophony of ache when the sun was setting for the Wardens to return to inside the Compound. Loghain, was enemy number one now to Alistair, Silmarwen, Leliana and Bethany because of the rigorous training they'd been put through. Carver, Loghain, Thorvald and Dyrfinna ran circles around them - they were more resilient with more stamina and strength than them but it gained them no favours. Being and Ash Warrior or Berserker was having been 'broken' already according to Oghren. The words - slavedriver, bastard and 'dour-faced taskmaster' were bandied about by a lot of them.

Kornelius had nearly collapsed after his third lap without armour, his push-ups mediocre at best but he was getting more hale with the passing days since his imprisonment. Some people looked at him like he had to be a monster but Dyrfinna couldn't see it. He was just a Grey Warden, didn't complain too much and his magical talents were rather amazing, she was pragmatic enough to see the uses it could have against the darkspawn. That and when she thought about it - the magic of life and death - 'Mortalitasi' was an anicent gift from the Lady of the Skies. Just as shapeshifting was the joint blessing of Imhar and Sigfrost. Each of the Gods gave their magic as gift.

That being said, Riordan needed the training too. He'd wasted away a lot during the relatively shorter time he'd been locked up in the dungeons. The painted lowlander marvelled at the griffons, tried to pull his weight. In short he was assimilating into the Warden group somewhat. He spent more time on the archery range though.

It all, a fruitful day. She could only hope for more progress in training the strength of them all, getting each to fight and learn together so that second-guessing a comrade in arms would be something of the past. The darkspawn were advancing into Ferelden more and more. They couldn't rely on Cauthrien to keep them back, they needed to know where the Archdemon was and take the bastard Tevinter Old God out. If that was today it would be today but they needed to be ready.

* * *

Bethany woke up to a humming tune in the room, she poked her head out from under the covers, her hair stuck with sweat from darkspawn nightmares on her cheek. Light filtered through the open curtains and window, an apple and vinegar scent coming from nearby. That and something sinfully similar to bacon, scrambled egg and mutton sausage. "Huh?" She blinked at the figure setting out breakfast from a tray onto the table by the window.

"Oh, well at least you're awake." The elf wore a simple, fll skirt of Warden blue with a white collared blouse and a white bonnet tying her blonde hair back, a pinafore tied around her waist, a griffon stitched lovingly into the pocket. One of the first to get the uniform then. "One less job. The human under the covers next to you has breakfast too, tell him he didn't hide quick enough."

It was odd waking up to a servant, but it was the second day of it now. Bethany tried to think of the girl's name to thank her. "I think I'll have to. Thank you Gloriana." The elf curtseyed slightly and blushed. It must be hard, having to become accustomed to suddenly being treated like anyone else. Bethany knew how difficult it was to be thought of as anyone else when it had always been a label of 'mage' over her, hanging like a black cloud.

"Is she gone yet?"

The elf had already left the room while she'd been musing inside her head and Bethany pulled back the covers, a very red-faced Alistair beneath them. "You heard her - breakfast." She arched an eyebrow, giggling.

"What are you laughing at?" He mimicked her, sitting up and reaching for his boots under the bed.

"We've shared a bed and a tent before. It's just cuddles." Bethany sighed, reaching for her dressing gown for over her nightdress. The ex-templar was redder in the face.

"And they might think it's more." He pursed his lips. approaching the food. She wondered when that would be. But they were both as inexperienced as each other in this respect and it was nice to have met someone who'd go a slowly as they could, just getting to know each other before hopping into a bed. He picked up a sausage and stuffed it in his mouth without preamble.

"Could it?" She smirked. "I hadn't noticed?"

The splutter was worth it. "Maker's breath, I'll choke you know. Then I'll be blue, gasping in the face Alistair and not just dreadfully sleepy Alistair."

"You hair's mussed up." Bethany pointed out, to whit the man rushed over to the vanity. Her shoulders shook with laugher as she started to help herself to the offerings. She couldn't remember who was the cook in the Compound but it seemed they understood the Warden hunger and how to make food taste like food. She loved Alistair - she was pretty sure of it but one more time of him cooking on the campfire would make anyone run for the darkspawn blood they needed to drink to become Wardens. Getting good food was like mana from the Maker.

"You lied." Alistair said accusingly, sitting opposite her and helping himself to the jug of milk.

"And?" She snorted a short laugh.

"Bad things happen to liars." He said with a smirk, a small milk moustache over the top of his lip.

"Like what?"

"Like... I know where you're ticklish!" He declared, rounding the table and fingers bending 'menacingly'.

"Am not." Bethany pouted, a wary glance as the fingers neared her ribs.

"What would you use to persuade me you're not?" He chuckled, still getting closer. Bethany flinched away instinctively.

"A kiss and..." She couldn't finish the sentence because of laughter, squirming on the wooden seat. "Sorry!"

"That's all I needed to hear." Alistair said affectionately, kissing her on her laughter pinked cheek. "Liars never prosper you know. That's a good rule to live by."

"What about, if Alistair tickles Bethany the whole Compound will find out about the doll collection he had in his footlocker?" Bethany grinned triumphantly.

"You wouldn't." Alistair's mouth hung agape for a moment before bacon went in. He chewed thoughtfully. "Even Barkspawn the stuffed mabari? He's limited edition! That's not a doll that's investment for my old age!"

"Oh yes, and Wuffles, Wags and Chopped Liver are his mabari pals." Bethany snorted. "They're dolls, you play with them."

"You're not a nice person." Alistair groused, a sausage pointed at her to demonstrate his point.

* * *

Dyrfinna sat in the library with Thorvald, reading his account so far on their journey in the lowlands. Reading in Old Ferelden was such a joy. The fact was - they were surrounded by books, none of which seemed to be more than 'trashy Orlesian romances', a few spell tomes and the rare book on strategy. Lowlanders hardly knew much about the Avvar other than a book found by Thorvald written by a Brother Genetivi that had been trekking the Frostback mountains and come across the Odelia clan. Thorvald didn't remember the man but he obviously remembered them.

The two Avvars laughed in rememberence of some of the more humorous times about camp, because of the reading - reverting into Old Ferelden as they spoke. The archer had captured them beautifully, adding pictures on odd pages. This one was of Oghren having collapsed into his tent, Silmarwen with her arm bound, in the other a bottle of ale. She exclaimed 'You're not fucking sleeping in mine you dirty dwarf!' - in the background herself, Loghain and Thorvald with hands to faces, Bethany, Leliana and Alistair a vivid shade of red. It was like a moment trapped in vellum. Even Kornelius cuddled up to Mr Rabbit in his shabby robes - drunk from ale! It was wonderful!

"Wardens." The two looked up to see their resident witch with the black book she'd stolen from Kinloch Hold under her arm and her brow furrowed. Without another word of warning she dropped in on the oak table in front of them and opened it up. "Your language is it not?" Morrigan's eyebrow was arched upwards, her plump lips pursed.

Dyrfinna and Thorvald leaned into it. "In a cipher last used by my clan over two hundred years ago." Thorvald finally announced. "It is readable once you can figure it. I had not placed you as able to read this though." He put a finger under a line. "Blessings of Sigfrost and Imhar, Blessings of Uvolla, Korth and Hakkon... and Freyja... The Lady of the Skies."

Thorvald had paled, muttering the incantation of the dead for having spoken the name of the Lady of the Skies aloud - it was bad luck to speak it, but knowing it was power. This was Morrigan's mother's book? Dyrfinna peered closer. "Not just blessings. Communication. The lowlander tales say that Flemeth is an ancient witch, she used the term theurge before to Morrigan - she has spoken to our Gods before they were bound. Flemeth is more ancient than the Avvars themselves."

Morrigan rolled her eyes but her breath was heaved. "Tis how I feared, I had thought to read on magic even she shan't have taught me. But... the next page is a matter of great ill." Dyrfinna turned the page to see a picture of the funeral rites of the Avvars, embossed in gold lettering about it. Tevinter blood magic inscribed around. She kept on reading.

"Flemeth means to take your life force as Kornelius is capable. She has the powers of the Lady of the Skies, her magical gift bestowed. But Kornelius learnt his through the knowledge preserved through the ages. Flemeth... couldn't. She would have had to have had this knowledge since her communication with the Gods." Her brow furrowed, sickened at the thought of the magic of the Gods mingled with blood, tainted by Tevinter skills.

"I had read it as to take my body as one would a new dress." Morrigan sniffled. "Then you will understand. Flemeth must die."

The two Avvars looked up. "What?" Thorvald rumbled. "You would have your mother killed?"

"Tis what needs to be done. I simply wish that Flemeth be destroyed so that I may live." Morrigan bristled.

"But she would... Flemeth... she asked we look after you." Dyrfinna spluttered, going back to the book.

"Perhaps, or perhaps she thought that using my powers would mean a more powerful person to take the life of. Pit me against a horde of monsters that will refine my knowledge and by some wisdom gain more skills." Morrigan crossed her arms under her breasts.

"Flemeth would still be in her hut back in the Korcari Wilds and that is behind a horde of darkspawn. To do this would require the griffons to surpass the horde and if this witch has lived so long as to be as ancient as we can glean then she will be formidible. She may be able to take our lives how she wished to take yours." Dyrfinna's head hit the table. By Korth she wanted to know what this witch may know that was lost to the Ages. What of the Gods that had been bound. Perhaps she knew where they were bound?

"From what I managed to read it must be one with magical talent." Morrigan took in a deep breath. "And I believe related to her."

Dyrfinna raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Where, we can read this with our own knowledge."

Morrigan growled, shaking her head and flicking the pages of the tome forcefully and pointing out a picture of a dark theurge holding a child within it's long skeletal hands. Below it it spoke of blood within blood, passed through the Ages with power behind it of the lion. How it must be preserved to keep the calling dragons alive. A link to all life.

It chilled her blood. That sounded so eerily of the Tevene Gods, their draconic evil that was painted in blood with a cataclysm of fire. Rebirth and blood with power. Morrigan snatched the book away. "Flemeth must die then."

It was as if it were a God bound within a woman, then twisted with the powers of the Tevinters. It could be one of their Gods. It would not be a simple death that would suffice to actually kill the woman. "But killing her mortally will not do so." Thorvald spoke her thoughts aloud.

"But it will give me the time to ward against her, if she cannot find me she cannot use my life." Morrigan sighed as if speaking to a child that could not grasp a concept after so much repetition.

"Then we shall have to do this. No other choice. But the darkspawn must come first Morrigan. We shall be trying to find the Dalish elves come the end of the week, if we take griffons alongside us we should do this. Korth be damned. This is a horrid task." Thorvald stood up. "I shall inform the others. Excuse me." He nodded toward the women and left the room.

"You truly wish this Morrigan?" Dyrfinna looked at the witch.

Morrigan gulped, took a deep breath and rubbed her index finger into her temple. "I do. And I would be incredibly thankful if you could bring back her true Grimoire. In there will be magic in there that is lost to more than the Avvar. I am so sure of it. Imagine what you could bring to your people with that knowledge." She stiffened. "It must be done, there is no other option."

"I shall help you read what is within. As you cannot speak Old Ferelden but can read it to some extent it may be that the cipher within it is even older than the one the Odelia used, the Avvar atop Fort Drakon may even need use a mind journey with Lowenna to decipher it."

"You would... do that?" Morrigan looked caught off guard.

"Aye, why not? This is more than giving you a chance at life Morrigan, this may be a piece of our history that was snuffed by the Alamarri or simply forgotten." Morrigan nodded at that. "Beside that fact. I have suspicions that would require speaking to her, I doubt she would be openly hostile when we first see her no?"

"I would think she would try to dissuade you, do not allow her. Flemeth is more cunning that we would be lead to believe, other than her façade of an elderly crone she is powerful beyond mere mortal understanding."

"I understand." Dyrfinna's mind whirled with the thought of betrayal of a woman for her daughter. It was against the beliefs she had held close for so long. But surely if Flemeth was as she had an inkling then it needed be done. It did.


	33. The Wardens Agree To Crazy Ventures

Author note: I've been thinking more and more on this story and the last chapter truly reflected that I feel. Very mysterious but point enough to tie into the DA comics and some of the theories I have over Flemeth. I can't give away al my spoilers now though.

Also, Dyrfinna's handwriting may be based on my own. Mine is illegible for the most part due to the arthritis and ganglions in my wrists, Dyrfinna's is just messy. I may have written out her little missive myself then typed it as I saw it, you'd be surprised how often 'e' looks like a 'c' so I looked back at an old draft I wrote (in hand, no laptop available) a while ago for a scene that got deleted and the word 'sluicing' looked more like 'swing'. Terrible!

And shhh about the sausage-inna-bun reference. Terry Pratchett must never find out. Lol!

* * *

Loghain found the other side of the bed empty when he awoke. He blinked a few times, sitting up in the rather plush room and stared at the note that accompanied a steaming bowl of porridge, a pot of damson jam next to it. That had to have been put there recently. Very likely that was what woke him.

He glanced at the painfully blocky 'Loghain' on the back before unfolding it. Confronted with what looked to be the markings of a spider that cross-bred with a chicken, the resulting demonic offspring a spider with miniature chicken feet, that had then decided to jump into an inkwell, then present it's dying throes upon an innocent piece of vellum, was not what he expected.

Loghain tiredly rubbed his forehead and set about eating the damson flavoured porridge with a gusto only attributed to the gnawing Warden hunger. He laid the vellum out flat and peered at it, trying to decipher exactly what was written. It was Common, that much was obvious.

At his best interpretation it read as -

_LogLain,_

_Gove to the fammers market to procore cattle, goils and see aboot mabari with Carner, Bethamy and Victur._

_Richand Couslaind wiuhes to spcak witL you amd has been in the foycr dince nine bells. Hc is nost anxiois to speak to you, aboot what - J am uncerttin._

_Therc is also a man called Lcvi Dryder who wantcd to speah with me but J hod no time._

_Korth giuc you strength._

_Dyrfinna. _

The writing was truly appalling, loopy but very likely scribbled in haste and even then, he thought should she have taken the time it would have been a task to read. Loghain grimaced at that thought, his own penmanship wasn't much better but he tended to write wholly in capital letters to avoid confusion.

He wiped his hand down his face, of course Finna was up at the crack of dawn for the farmer's market - she was adamant and argumentative with that other bloody Orlesian they'd picked up, Riordan, last night.

The points of said argument were - 'Wardens desire for nothing, their food is a given, their shelter a given, what people serve them, a given. We protect them. You're wasting what coin we have in this venture with servants and farming.'

Which was countered with a speech about self-sufficiency, not taking what is not there (because she was riled up about the poverty of the elves still), and then the inevitable tirade about why Riordan had not brought more Wardens (not chevaliers - she was not having the same people that sought to slaughter her clan parading in the army without a word). It was an impressive one-sided shouting match.

It was countered that Ferelden never wished help from Orlais, they were independent and fiercely proud about that - that he went against Commander Kristoff's orders to even be in Ferelden. It was patronizing to everyone at the table. None of them had known what in the Void being a Warden entailed other than what Lucien had told them, and even then it was impossible to find anything written down that was of any help.

And Finna's anger was evident on his back by the scratches exposed to the cool air in the room, last night had been a rushing and release of a lot of that anger and frustration she had - and he was more than eager to be the person those frustrations were taken out on. Loghain wasn't too fussed by it but it was almost worrying how angry Denerim had made her. He supposed a lot of what she'd been exposed to in the city had been the worst that could have been showed her.

Loghain wondered about taking her somewhere in the city that would make her not hate what she saw. A thought for another time perhaps.

But now he had a noble waiting downstairs for him and someone he couldn't even decipher the name of. He picked up his tunic from where it had been thrown last night and hurried on his proper Warden tabard, slinging a belt around his middle to hold it to himself.

What he saw in the foyer was in fact, Richard Cousland - the flustered noble lordling looking a lot older and scrubbed up to a high shine, and a merchant of sorts. And they were arguing. Alistair - the lad was attempting to stop them. It was almost hilarious but Loghain had trained his face neutral years ago to avoid it being seen as taking sides before words had even been spoken.

Loghain cleared his throat and the two arguing men looked over, both paling. The man with the dark reddy hair and goatee made to speak first but the merchant got there quicker.

"Loghain Mac Tir as I live and breathe, ruddy luck! You'll understand that this is much more important than some tea with this brat." He gestured a grubby thumb at the lordling. Loghain fought not to smirk. It wasn't that the boy wasn't a good person, if he was honest the last time he'd seen the Cousland family it was before Maric's blasted venture into boating. He remembered a scrappy, owlish boy running about after his elder brother, waving a stick at him for stealing his dwarven spectacles. He noted the lad had the spectacles on a chain around his neck.

"And I say that the information I've been tasked to bring it of a more vital urgency!" The young noble glowered at the merchant.

"Beats me Constable, they're just glowering and threatening at the moment but give them a bone and they'll fight like dogs - I'm sure of it." Alistair shrugged. Loghain's icy blue eyes drifted to the ex-templar. "I'll just be off training before you go all slavedriver again." And with that the lad almost ran in his clattering armour out toward the courtyard. That reminded him - they were supposed to be seeing how the other Wardens took to riding griffons.

"First of all, I don't know your name." Loghain said toward the merchant.

"I went and told that Commander woman, even spelt it out for her." Said merchant said indignantly.

"Then you didn't account for atrocious penmanship." Loghain said dryly, finishing his descent of the stairs. "So if you could just outline the basics, with your name?"

"Levi Dryden your Grace, and it's very important. Regarding the Wardens actually." He nodded his head in respect. Loghain racked his brain and only came up with one thing after hearing the name Dryden. Sophia Dryden. And that names was linked to the Wardens with a civil war against King Arland that was the reason the Wardens had once been exiled from Ferelden. Loghain was intrigued but it could be a bloody huge coincidence.

"Wait in the Commander's study. If she returns before I'm available she'll deal with what you have to say, if not I'll be with you shortly." Levi nodded to that and was pointed in the correct direction.

He then turned to the lordling still standing there and said his mind without further preamble. "Is the civil war over, will you be marrying my daughter and I do hope the Rite of Succession won't be called for?"

The man gaped like a fish without water before righting himself. "In order then, Fergus sent word that the fighting has stilled for the moment. Apparently Captain Lowan as well as _Howe_ himself have been... disposed of. The Amaranthine forces retreated toward Vigil's Keep but we've thought returning the gesture of killing every man, woman and child within would be a terrible point to make. And in short, yes and yes. I shall be marrying Anora and the Rite of Succession will be called for an equal partnership. It would be more sensible I'm sure to have as much of the nobility appeased as possible and we must go about the proper channels no? Anora's idea naturally."

Loghain gestured the way toward the private study in the Compound, not the Commander's study which was occupied now and also easily accessible. His future son-by-law didn't seem too anxious until the door was closed. "For privacy." Loghain muttered, moving to the drinks cabinet, depressing a small button on the side that flicked the front down to reveal cut crystal glasses and a fine decanter half full of either well aged whiskey or brandy.

He gestured silently for the other man to sit and poured out two inches of the oaky coloured liquid in each crytsal tumbler, passing one to the lad. "I knew your mother during the rebellion. Leonas and Eleanor Bryland were quite the archers or so I recall. I'm only sad you didn't get to see the cornered rat get killed, ran the treacherous weasel through myself."

Richard looked down at the drink, taking a long gulp before shaking his head and grimacing a while with a sucked in breath. "Old Starkhaven, Blessed 8:80 or roundabouts." He commented. "And I should know, it was the only training Fergus and I disagreed upon. He wanted to be the Cousland warrior like father and I was content with following the Bryland archery tradition."

He looked morosely at the whiskey - Starkhaven generally meant whiskey. Loghain knocked back the lot quickly, gently putting the fine glass down on the desk and sitting behind it. "I want you to promise me something lad." He turned serious, eyes never leaving the man, trying to watch for sights of lying as he used to.

"Of course." Richard nodded glumy and took a deep breath in through his nose.

"You won't be like Cailan. Anora deserves more than a man who'll treat her like some common wench and whore himself out to all the maid he can. She needs someone who can equal her. Do you think you could do that?" Loghain's jaw locked.

"I will. Trust me when I say I would never hurt Anora and fully intend to be her equal. I would rather have her upon the throne truth be told but it would be seen as wholly odd not to have the two surviving Couslands not enact the Rite. It may be a political arrangement but... shit I can't say this in front of her father but I intend to love her as best any husband could." He punctuated the end of it by finishing the drink and put it none too forcefully on the desk. "But I came here for a reason and was told if I had to tell the Commander I might have to run from pointed objects."

That peaked Loghain's curiosity. More things for Finna to get angry about. He'd have to see about that getting sorted before she drew blood off his back next time - in all honesty he was worried for some unknown Maker-forsaken reason because of that damned magic Kornelius did. "Do continue?" He kept his tone neutral.

Richard cleared his throat. "Well Anora had the Grand Cleric of Denerim almost wanting to call an Exalted March."

"And this involves us how?"

"It's about a scholar. One of the Brothers of the Chantry, Brother Genetivi, that goes on regular exploratory quests. He was researching the Avvar and the Frostback Mountains as well as ancient dragon worshippers."

Loghain hmm'ed to that. From what he'd understood so far dragons and Avvar didn't get on, still no clue about what it involved the Wardens with per se. "And did one of the clansmen atop Fort Drakon gut the Brother on account of thinking the Avvar got themselves involved with dragon cults?"

"Not precisely. He's on some quest, believes he knows where the Ashes of Andraste are, I had to force my way into his house to find out what was going on and ended up having to kill an apostate that was parading as his assistant. He stumbled into a lot of information, he truly believes he knows where they are." Richard took a deep breath and sighed heavily. "The problem is. It's mostly written in a cipher or some odd language the Chantry can't crack. They think the Avvars or 'heathens and barbarians' as I heard them referred to caused his disappearance. Every agent they've sent after him in his last known location hasn't come back. They're almost frothing at the mouth."

"Blast it. That last thing Ferelden needs is those bloody Orlesians attacking the Frostbacks more!" Loghain slumped. He now knew why the attacks on the Avvars were happening. They thought they had Andraste's Ashes! They thought the dead missionaries and agents were a cover up not because they refused to convert to Andrastian religion! Fools! It could also be a link between a vengeful bitch Celene over Cailan and not getting Ferelden back that way. And of course the fact even the Wardens seemed to be boycotting the country.

"Exactly. I know it seems like a lot. But it may be necessary, I've planned out a map on where Genetivi should have headed. If anyone can find the bastard and bring him back alive - hopefully with proof either he's mad and doesn't know where n the Void these Ashes are or they he actually found them would be preferable. I ask someone goes searching for him. I would rather not have an Exalted March brought down on any part of the country I'm supposed to rule with Anora."

Loghain knew it sounded bloody ridiculous, sensible to at least try but still bloody ridiculous with the Blight they had to deal with. "I'll take the information you have, get it carted into our library and we'll get someone to look at it. If it's Old Ferelden we might just have someone who can read the stuff or two. And if the Avvar do know anything we might have a clue too."

He felt like he'd aged those twelve years all over again. "And... Loghain? Anora asked how severely younger you looked. Should I tell her not much?"

"Hardly much, if the Chantry keeps nosing in it was a blood mage and said mage is dead. I suggest you go do whatever it is you plan on doing. I have another damned thing to sort out."

Thank the Maker Finna hadn't heard that firsthand. She'd still need to bloody well know though. He might gauge Thorvald's reaction first then come up with a cunning way of telling her should it be a bad idea.

Now to see what that Dryden fellow had to say.

"I shan't keep you waiting then. And Loghain?" He hmm'ed toward the lordling. "I just wanted to say thank you - for personally ending Rendon Howe. The civil war needed to end but by the Maker what that man was up to, I petitioned day and night for a lawful arrest without avail, he couldn't openly attack me here in Denerim so it was a deadly stalemate."

"No problem. He wasn't fit to rule anything, the man was insane."

"I thought so too. If I may take a leaf from your book I intend to pass the Arling onto Delilah or Nathaniel, the sins of a father shouldn't pass to the children and I have nothing personal against them."

Loghain glanced back at him. "Too true." He sighed. "And tell Anora that Warden you saw just before this meeting was Alistair Theirin, you obviously see how unfit the lad is to rule?"

"Undoubtedly. I should bring you exactly what propaganda Eamon's trying to spread about the nobility but then the Arl of Redcliffe might not get a longer life." Richard stood up and nodded his head. "I hope the rest of your day goes better."

* * *

Dyrfinna stood on the wooden fenced ring, her 'Seneschal' behind her keeping note of their purchases in his ledger and she had Carver and Bethany - both as knowledgeable as she about farmyard animals in flank, pointing out faults and merits in each of the cows for sale.

Each in this ring was a dairy cow, to be sold with a heifer they'd whelped not long ago.

The Wardens had a patch of land just outside of Denerim according to the 'accounts' Victor had gone through. The house on the site was uninhabited at the moment as was the land so Dyrfinna was planning on filling it with animals, trees and crops as well as placing some of the servants there to run the farm.

So far, and in accordance to what housing they had for animals on the property as well as space available; they had six 'Olde Ferelden' spotted pigs - five sows and one boar, five cows that came with a heifer each as well as a stud bull, twelve sheep, four pygmy goats and twenty chickens. They'd have milk, cheeses, yoghurt, eggs and wool enough to supply their needs hopefully throughout the years. Then there were saplings for pears, apples, peaches and plums. Seeds for cabbages and onions. The feed for the animals and farming equipment were a given in needing to buy - like a cider press and a small distillery. Oghren might never forgive her if she didn't think about that!

Then potted herbs and such. Greagoir were taken to the farmhouse and Mr Rabbit would be pulling the carts to and from it to transport everything. Victor was just making sure that everything was kept written down, that they didn't buy at too high a price and in general just wrinkling his hooked nose at the smell of the farmers market. "The last thing I would think would be a plough-horse Commander." Victor coughed.

He kept the coin in a sling inside his jacket with the brass buttons to avoid thieves hands and his arms tight to his body, the ledger he was sorting the 'accounts' into close to his spectacled vision. "Yeah, they're the big brutes - could rival Mr Rabbit on pulling power." Carver nudged her in the ribs with his elbow.

"Then a plough-horse we shall have to buy. Should we buy the shoes too or have we someone skilled in smithing who could do so for us?" She asked, hopping off the wooden fence. They had enough cows but the great bovine beasts were enjoyable to watch chew the cud. It was a world away from the Blight here.

"No, we need shoes." Victor nodded. "And I don't know about the three Wardens but I'm starving."

Now that she thought about it breakfast had been skipped in their haste to make it out of the Compound before the damned painted lowlander stuck his nose into the business of Ferelden Wardens. "Oh!" Bethany exclaimed, pointing over the people milling about. "I see a sausage-inna-bun stall."

"I haven't had a good sausage-inna-bun for years." Carver groaned. "The best ones are when you can't recall if it actually contains a named meat inside. Geez, I'm starving now."

"Then sausage in a bun." Dyrfinna shrugged.

"No. Sausage-inna-bun. It's a particular way of making them Commander than makes one query why one even wished to gnaw on gristle and soggy bread in the first place but always want it with good mustard and fried onions." Victor smirked. "No two are the same."

"It sounds... interesting then." She pursed her lips. "Then we shall see the mabari breeder about bonding Carver to one."

The young warrior beamed at the thought. "Really?"

"Oh yes, part of your Ash Warrior status. The nomadic clans have a mabari bonded to them for life, Asgrim has bonded to myself primarily and Thorvald in my absence. It is only sensible."

"Don't let Alistair try and name it." Bethany warned.

Carver furrowed his brow. "Why not?"

"You don't want to know." Bethany giggled, shaking her head.

* * *

Loghain had a headache. The Wardens apparently had a fortress deep in the mountains of the Coastlands and Levi Dryden told him a sad tale about how the previous Commander (Duncan not Lucien and before that Polara) had kept on promising to follow up his information that could lead to them retaking the lost Fortress.

Yet they still hadn't. And for what reason he could hear a lot of the Wardens in this very Compound asking. Because it was supposedly haunted and they lacked the time.

No, then never lacked enough time to get their Warden arses out of Denerim and retake a Fortress that's very likely abandoned. They lacked the time now. A Blight, a bloody missing Chantry Brother (now wouldn't that be an enjoyable mission to delve into?) as well as securing the aide of the Dalish against the Blight to boot. Then whatever else cropped up that apparently needed urgent attention.

He dismissed the merchant who was taking his family north to the Free Marches and he left a very fine mapping of the underground tunnels that lead to the Fortress of Soldiers Peak itself. There was a knock at the door and he bid whoever was behind it to enter.

"Ah, Warden-Constable. The cook has run out of napkins to go with the breaded ham and smoked Nevarran cheese for lunch." The blonde elven girl bobbed quickly in a curtsey. Loghain rolled his eyes.

"Well what else was Faygun planning on serving with the cheese and ham?" He asked.

"Buttered bread Ser and a pot of onion pickle." The elf - Gloriana? said.

"Put the pickle on the bread, put the ham and cheese on that and put another slice of bread on top. Then no need for ruddy napkins." Honestly? Was that so difficult?

Gloriana grinned. "I'll tell him right away Ser! Then I'll inform the rest of the Wardens to report to the dining room, will you take your lunch here?"

"I'll eat with them, just give me a few moments of peace and quiet girl." He sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Yes Ser." Gloriana bobbed again and left the study in a flurry of her skirts and pinafore.

* * *

Dyrfinna was very pleased with the way the farm animals and everything was getting sorted. Victor had left during lunch to move the servants that would be taking over the farm there with the saplings and seeds with the crates of chickens first.

Leaving her with Carver and Bethany with the fabled 'sausage-inna-bun' which was as he'd said, gristly, meat origins unknown and a damned lot better with mustard and onions. And wandering over to the kennels where the puppies were being held.

"So Bethany, Carver, as a different viewpoint on this venture - do you think this is a good thing we are going with the elves and farming?"

The twin Wardens almost laughed. "Yeah, it's about time someone got their hands out from under their arse about actually doing something." Carver snorted. "You see the elves and without money or power there's pretty little you can do."

"He's right, there's still some resentment around for elves and it shows in the laws as well as more vulgar people but I'd say for the most part the everyday people just think of elves as much as they do perhaps dwarves." Bethany shrugged. "I'm not saying it's not important to have the equality but it doesn't affect the human population - so they're rather apathetic to it all."

"That makes sense." Dyrfinna poked the last of the 'sausage-inna-bun' into her mouth, chewing it sparingly. "So... a good idea but rather inconsequential to how the common man thinks?"

"Yeah." Carver nodded. The three Wardens ducked into the kennels and were met by the sight of three bitches trying to corral their pups into staying away from the pups of a different mother. "Maker's breath would you look at them?"

The warrior brightened up, a faint blush on his cheeks as he scuttled, bent over to the pups, cooing all the while. Bethany grinned and followed her brother. "Oh look, this one's got a white splodge on his nose!" She sighed delighted.

Said brown and white-splodge nose puppy snuffled away from his mother and took determined steps toward Carver, nose in the air. Carver hooked it up under the forearms and the puppy yawned sleepily with a high-pitched whine inside. Carver almost looked like a father holding his first-born as he rubbed a hand on the puppy's head softly.

Dyrfinna bent at the hip and looked at the small thing curling up in his arms. It was more than one white splodge on it's nose, there were dark rings around it's eyes and the end of it's docked tail had a white tip. It was positively cute! It would be a warhound one day but for the moment it was adorable. "He likes you." The three Wardens glanced over to the breeder, a grey-haired man with whiskery moustache, a patterned suit that tucked into long leather boots and a flatcap on his head that matched his suit.

He walked over with a stick for balance and picked up the puppy by the scruff. It whimpered until he put it back down in Carver's arms. He repeated it, placing the puppy back with his mother but it continued to whine until the scrappy thing was back in the warrior's arms. "He definitely likes you. Seen some quick bondings in my time but that takes the biscuit my boy." He grinned toothily, displaying a few missing teeth. "Gonna name the little bastard or not then?"

Carver looked over at Dyrfinna then back to the breeder. "Can I Dyr?" He looked so hopeful that even if this was just a look at the puppies rather than trying to find one to bond to the warrior she would have had to be a cold-hearted monster to say no.

"How much for the pup?" She asked. She'd just have to remember for Victor to note down.

"Just his food and water that he's had since he weaned and whatever tip you'd give to an old breeder who made sure he was well looked after." The man grinned again. Dyrfinna shook her head and pulled two silver from her pocket and a few coppers.

"This should suffice then? A life-long companion has no price." She passed it over and the breeder clucked his tongue and whistled.

"Thank yer kindly. I'll grab a collar and leash for you and as a bonus I'll throw in a bag of puppy chow. Only be a moment." He winked as he put the coin in his pocket, hobbling over to where he'd been standing before.

"Will you name him then?" Bethany elbowed her brother, still entranced by the bundle of fluffy mabari with over-sized paws in his arms.

"Oh... yeah." Carver muttered, running a finger down the spine of the sleepy pup. "He's a wiry little thing, I'd bet good coin he'll become a massive bruiser. Hey... Bruiser! I like the sound of that."

"A good name." Dyfinna nodded. The breeder came back and held out the brown card bag of dog food - very familiar smelling dog food. She opened it up and took a quizzical sniff. "Mabari Crunch... traditional Avvar recipe." She finally declared. She would know that smell anywhere.

"It is, recipe was passed down the generations in my family. Always wanted to shake one of those barbarian's hands and say thank you, best pups always came from us McDougalls and I always put it down to that recipe." Bethany and Carver both chuckled. "What?"

"I am Avvar." Dyrfinna extended a hand. "And you are welcome." The man shook her hand whole-heartedly, laughing.

"Well may I get struck down, thanks then. Got any tips that'll give Old McDougall a further edge?" He grinned widely.

"Bathe them in turpentine before letting them outside for the first time?" Dyrfinna laughed.

"Old trick that one is." He chuckled. "Was a pleasure meeting you but I have to see a man about a horse. I'll see ya when I see ya."

He passed the collar and leash to Carver before hobbling off once more. The Wardens, once very proud of the leashed puppy in his arms, left the kennels to go back to the holding area with the animals they'd bought. "I didn't know there was more than one recipe for dog food." Bethany said aloud.

"Of course, just as there is more than one recipe for a cake or biscuits!" Dyrfinna laughed. "What a lovely man we met."

"I thought he was just an old bugger bloody thankful for getting a lot of coin for a pup." Carver shrugged, rubbing his nose in the scruff of the puppy. "Bruiser is worth it I'm sure but he's still an expensive pup."

"An honorary Avvar hound." Dyrfinna chuckled.

* * *

Finna arrived back in the late afternoon with the two twin Wardens and the Seneschal. "All sorted on this ridiculous venture?" The bloody Orlesian greeted her. The Avvar woman bared her teeth at the man before watching the two griffons in the air. Silmarwen was up there for the third time this afternoon, this the first time on her own. And Kornelius was practising holding his staff and the reins on the griffon. The two mages were relatively at ease in the air.

Oghren had downright refused to go one step near the griffons and flying.

Thorvald didn't need any training on the blasted things at all. Their resident bard couldn't stand being in the air, chucking up her meal.

Their resident marsh witch had decided she'd watch the griffons and devise a way for herself to transform into one. And Alistair had barely managed to mount on one before he exclaimed he'd just end up falling off the 'winged beasts'.

The comment was startlingly familiar to the way he and Rowan had jabbed Maric with his tendency to fall off horses.

And of course, the secretly here Orlesian - Riordan - had been up but found the experience unsettling. Loghain nearly had riding on the giant beasts down now. Just a few more lessons.

The wind picked up around the courtyard and Silmarwen was back on the ground with the black griffon. She launched out of the harnesses. "Always fucking awesome!" She shouted. "Your turn again Alistair!"

The ex-templar groaned. "I see the aerial unit is shaping up nicely." Finna ignored the Orlesian, greeting Loghain with a peck on the cheek. "I should see how the parachutes in case of falling out of the skies work, should anyone else wish to test alongside me?"

Loghain's eyes widened. Oh no, she wasn't jumping off one of the bloody massive half-birds. "Why Loghain, you just paled - are you feeling well?" Bethany said sweetly.

"Just peachy." He ground out. "And must you?" He said toward the woman getting a rucksack strapped onto herself by one of the Avvars still in the city. They were getting the hang of looking after and riding griffons after all, slowly they were leaving.

"Aye I must. Kiss for luck or shall I just pray to Korth?" Finna smiled cheekily. Loghain grumbled.

"It's not to be done - as a Commander you're holding the Wardens here together." Riordan declared. Loghain supposed that was the most affable thing the bastard had said.

"Piss up a rope." She showed him a middle finger and ran off to Kornelius' landing griffon. The Nevarran mage hopped off, flush faced and grinning when Finna clambered up the winged creature, she waved from atop the creature and then went to flying.

Loghain's hand met his face. He hoped she was bloody careful. She may even end up landing on a roof.

And he still needed to tell her what in the Void they were going to have to do, and on top of that explain why. Unwittingly he crossed his fingers. For her to return to the ground in one piece and then for the Compound to remain in one piece.

"I heard about parachutes being used by crazy sodders jumping off buildings in Orzammar." Oghren grunted, taking a swig from his flask as he wobbled and looked at the sky. "Took forever to clean the bastards up after though."

Loghain put his hand out and got the silvery flask put in it. He'd need this drink and he didn't care what in the Void it actually was.


	34. Knots and Goats

Author note: I just went :P at canon. I know. I've been doing it quite frequently so twas amusing to me and I need those Ashes. I need them!

No more spoilers - enjoy the chapter and no ranting about game mechanics/Thedas life for now at least. Okay promise - next chapter is planned to be rant free!

I owe you all smut for reading all my rants - you all love me! You will love me... (ten points to the author for 'throbbing member'!)

* * *

Loghain readied the ladder under the roof of the palace and made sure Carver and Alistair were holding it tight before he started to climb. Hopefully nobody would realise what had happened.

Heights were never a bother, or rickety footing. Neither was both. It was the groaning from atop the roof that bothered him. He should have stopped the thrice-damned woman from doing this, he felt guilty that he hadn't stopped her. He always felt guilty when there was _something _he could do. It was just his way. "Finna?"

"The parachute had a rip, we need to reinforce the stitching." Came the moaning, shouted reply.

"Hurt?" He asked, hoping nothing serious. And if there wasn't there might be something sore in the morning if she was happy about this.

"Trapped foot, I broke a few of the tiles of the roof and got stuck." He rolled his eyes, bloody Finna, needing someone to help her. "I can get myself out." He snorted at that.

Anora was going to bloody well kill them then. He reached the top to see her with her left calf completely inside the roof tiles, broken clay tiles skittered in a pattern from where she'd skidded. "Learnt a valuable lesson?"

"Reinforce the stitching of the parachute." Finna nodded as he hooked her under the arms to help her out. "And I said I can get myself out." Loghain arched an eyebrow and she sighed. "Fine - test the parachutes away from the city."

"Finna." He used a reprimanding tone generally used toward misbehaving children. Honey eyes set in a burgundy band were narrowed up at him, a scowl worthy of etching glass sent his way.

"Do not land on the Queen's roof." Finna huffed, stretching out her leg once she was out of the leg sized hole.

"You're bloody well incorrigible." He sighed, wiping a palm over the bridge of his nose.

"Damn right I am!" She beamed.

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I heard it as one."

"How about we get _off the roof_ before we start arguing?" Loghain levelled.

Hands were put on full hips, Maker just thinking about those legs made shapely by a life on a mountain was not right when he was this confoundedly angry with her. "I will test the parachutes again." And with that she flounced off and down the ladder.

"You won't!" He shouted down at her.

There was already a commotion at the bottom of the ladder - namely his daughter was standing there with an unreadable mask on her face, lips pursed. "I have to contend with Wardens falling from the skies now?"

"Just an incident with a parachute. One needs an escape plan should a griffon not be able to fly or land safely while in the air." Came the reply lower down the ladder.

"And she won't be testing it." Loghain harrumphed, making his way down. Finna wasn't hurt, possibly smarting from where she landed and a bit embarrassed.

"I will."

"You won't."

"You do not own me."

"If I have to rescue you off another roof-" He was cut off by a growl.

"I am no weak woman-child needing rescue, I would have gotten myself off that roof in my own time." Was snapped towards him. Silence covered the four warriors and Queen. Damn it!

Loghain grumbled his way down the ladder, landing on the flagstones heavily. Maker's breath could the woman not see how worried he'd been? He fixed her with a glare and she shifted beneath it, petulantly crossing her arms. "I do hope my roof survived." Anora said conversationally, thankfull and tactfully ignoring the spat. She knew him well enough not to insert herself into an ongoing argument.

"I shall send the coin to mend the hole and broken tiles." Finna said slowly, reining herself in. They had more than enough once Victor had tallied up the coin they'd taken from the Tevinter slavers in the Alienage. Enough that they wouldn't need to worry about breaking a roof. That wasn't the point!

"Don't bother, in truth I hardly think the roof would be an expense I can't afford." Anora put a hand out, sighing and shaking her head. "I do hope father, that once these parachutes are fully tested that you'll wear one when on a griffon?"

Loghain snorted a long breath from his nose. He supposed he'd need to once they were sure the parachutes worked. They should test them on the Orlesians in their order though. "We have a painted lowlander to knock down a few pegs for his insubordinate actions recently. By your leave Queen Anora?" Finna said in the face of his silence.

"By all means. The thump on the roof was rather a good break in the monotony of sorting ancient documents on the throne." Anora rolled her eyes. "And father, you look well. Not too much younger but I can see why Kylon was concerned."

Loghain shrugged. "Come on, this'll be a long walk back to the Compound." Carver sighed.

"You're telling me." Alistair quipped. "Oh... and Queen Anora, I'm very happy to let you have the throne. I was told I'd never even see it, let alone be on it, so in all honesty could you imagine how much the country would fall apart if I got a shiny crown on my head?"

"I suppose." Anora answered the ex-templar coolly. "Announce as such before the Landsmeet and I shall be much more at ease."

* * *

Dyrfinna kept her arms crossed, the ripped parachute stuffed back in her bag on her back as they walked in silence to the Compound. Well - Carver and Alistair were chatting ahead them.

Loghain and she remained stonily quiet. She looked sideways at the physically imposing man. In some ways it was quite nice to know that someone was looking out for her. But she was as stubborn as a mule (Greagoir the mule for example) and knew she didn't need help. She wasn't hurt. Korth's throne this was stupid.

"Do you have a death wish?" Dyrfinna rolled her eyes. "I mean it. You didn't even check that parachute before you jumped off the bleeding griffon."

"I trusted my clansmen had crafted it well. The stitching needs improvement but otherwise it was fine." She didn't look at him, still angry about how he viewed her as a maiden in distress.

"It was fine _this time_. Next time I doubt it." Loghain huffed.

"And it will go better when I go back into the air later."

"How much later?"

"It takes only a few more minutes to return to the Compound." She shrugged.

Loghain growled and she just arched an eyebrow at him. "Fine, but should we need evacuate a griffon in mid-flight it is not on my head if someone dies that way."

His scowl could have broken a rock. She mimicked him in the expression.

"Maker's breath you two!" Carver shouted back at them. "I can hear your scowling!"

"That's because you're all linked as Scowling Wardens." Alistair laughed. "Oo! Dyr, Loghain - did you feel him scowl at me?"

The Commander and Constable didn't answer, still in the process of glaring at one another. "How about I bloody well test it out? Or Thorvald? Silmarwen and Kornelius seem to be able enough on the griffons" Carver groaned.

"He's chock full of good ideas. Stalemate broken and you two can stop the non-verbal sparring." Alistair brightened.

"I told you once, I told you a hundred times, you don't have to do everything." Loghain levelled with her. Yes, let it start to become a verbal spar again.

"Yes I do! Somebody made me the Commander! It is my role!" Dyrfinna countered.

"Delegate." He ground out.

"As it is with a Thane or any Ash Warrior it is their role to take the damage and risks for the clan, so I do for the Wardens." She lifted on the balls of her feet, arms still crossed until she was nearly forehead to forehead with the taciturn, bull-headed man.

"Delegate." He repeated, looming over her with his height and physical presence, his icy blue eyes boring into her.

"Korth forsaken lowlander. Of course you do not understand." She flounced away, large strides toward the Compound.

"Bloody Avvar barbarian." She turned on to spot, glowering.

"You lowlanders are the barbarians! Not I!" She said lowly, venom threaded in her voice. Both Carver and Alistair shot worrying glances at each other. Loghain's lips thinned and his eyes narrowed.

"Just delegate some work on other people! You're not infallible!"

"Neither are you!"

The two stopped stuck in heated silence before Dyrfinna turned heel again, walking much quicker. She could feel the others following her in the taint that tethered them all.

She was forcefully gripped on the shoulders and spun on the spot. She met Loghain's enraged face almost nose to nose. "You scared me. Don't do it again." His voice was hoarse, deep, hurt and his grip on her shoulders tight, almost bruising.

"And how do you propose that when we fight darkspawn and whatever else is thrown our way?" She hissed, narrowing her eyes at him, teeth bared.

"Meet me halfway then, no jumping off griffons on a whim just to piss off that Orlesian." He growled.

"I..." She faltered, hating how he had to be right about some of her motives. Dyrfinna closed her eyes, an angry breath drawn out. "I am sorry Loghain."

"You'd better be." His kiss was just as forceful as his grip, fervent and angry. Her hands found their way naturally behind his head and his down her shoulders, curling around her waist. It filled her with heat, coiling down low in her stomach and she melded close to him. Damn him for affecting her so much.

"Yay! They kissed and made up!" Dyrfinna laughed despite herself at Alistair's comment.

Loghain parted from her. "Race to the Compound?" He whispered in her ear, that wasn't a question. She nodded subtly, she wasn't the only one affected by that. Korth's throne she wasn't!

They started running and left two very confused Wardens. "Hey! Where're you going?" Alistair shouted after them, followed by a very knowing. "Oh! I didn't ask!" And a distinctly Carver-like groan.

* * *

They were breathless when they had found their way back into the bedroom, Dyrfinna locked the door behind them, pulling the key out and slapping it down on the dresser.

She shuffled off her boots, rucksack and jacket, the jacket thrown at a chair and almost leapt upon the damned lowlander, pulling his tabard off over his head with his tunic to bare that gloriously hairy chest. Imhar's laughter she'd never tire of the sight of Loghain shirtless before her, his hands roaming up under her own bilious tunic, calluses over her ribs.

He lifted the tunic off and sucked in a breath. "See, no injuries." She smirked.

Loghain groaned low in his throat, the sound of it reverberating in her very bones like the adrenaline of the run. She pushed him back on the bed, it was incredibly enjoyable to dominate over the incredibly virile, muscular man and she straddled over him. "Don't do it again." He muttered as she nibbled down his bared chest. He smelt of sweat and something indescribably him, musky and male that lit her senses up.

"Promises promises." She murmured.

He flipped then with a huff, capturing her within his arms. "Promise." He demanded, eyes blazing.

"And if I promise?" Her answer was the hand that brushed delightfully and none too gently through the thin leather between her thighs. "And if I do not?"

Loghain glared at her beneath him and leaned forward predatory. "Then you'll truly be fucked won't you?" He rumbled lowly. She shivered, a jolt instantly sent to her sex with his words, her smalls dampening.

"Is that a threat or a promise as I have the sudden urge to get a parachute." She grinned. Loghain leaned back onto his knees over her, she watched him with interest, wondering just what was going on in his mind and the mere ideas that sprang to her mind were almost maddening. "Fine! I promise! No untoward jumping off of griffons!" She sighed.

Loghain smiled, pursing his lips the while. "So I wonder what I'll have to do to make sure you don't go back on that." He said, leaning in and kissing down her throat, hands caressing downwards over her bare breasts.

She mewled at the attentions on her nipples, the way his fingers tweaked them. Dyrfinna bit the inside of her lip. "Fuck me now and we shall see."

Loghain wasn't a man didn't shock often but he was shocked by her words, shocked and judging by the pressing bulge on her stomach - very attracted to her. She knew he was but the instant hardening against her stomach was incredibly powerful.

She took advantage, flipping them again and trapping his wrists under her hands. Korth's throne it was like a surge of feminine pride to have him under her, that scowl on his face at the turn of events and she leaned in close to his neck, biting at the hot skin here. He groaned, his pushing back at her hands lessened. She intended to defeat him.

She arched her back and moved her hands down, undoing the knots of his britches, his cock released from the leather. With one hand she pulled his smallclothes down, gripping the turgid flesh. "Hmm, somebody enjoys this." She whispered into his throat.

Loghain moaned. "Perhaps." She chuckled, moving off him a moment to pull her own britches and smalls off.

She turned back to him to see him fully stripped and laying on the bed looking like the most damned attractive man in Thedas. She purred unwittingly at the sight of him. He beckoned her over with an arched finger and she willingly complied.

As soon as she was within his reach he was quick in pinning her to the bed with one arm, the other down and spreading her thighs beneath her. She gasped as a finger probed into her cunt. "Somebody else enjoys this." He rumbled. She squirmed and surged forward, pinning him under her straddle. Loghain would yield to her.

"I enjoy this oh so much more." She said lowly, smirking at him as she leaned forward into his waiting hands, his warm palms cupping her breasts.

"I can't think of a reason not to say I don't." He mumbled. Dyrfinna grinned, feeling his cock twitch against her hip.

Slowly, she arched up, moving over his throbbing member and used one hand to guide him inside of her, sighing as she impaled herself on him. Dyrfinna held to his shoulders and she closed her eyes, her mouth opening at the feeling of being so full, Loghain's thick cock brushing against that wonderful spot inside her that just felt so damned good. His hands were on her hips, caressing down her thighs as if in wonderment. It filled her with heat that radiated from her lower stomach upwards.

"Loghain." She bit her lip, rocking herself forward and backward - whimpering and fine shiver covered her and she nearly lost her train of thought. "I am still annoyed at you."

"Are you?" He groaned, thrusting his hips up. "I hadn't guessed."

"Very." Dyrfinna panted, trying to calm herself. "I am not a weak... thing to be rescued!" One damned hand splayed over her lower stomach, the thumb on her nub and circling. Ye Gods! She groaned, sucking in breaths for dear life. It wasn't right that he could do that to her.

"And you're... reckless." Loghain sat up, keeping their connection as he scooted into the headboard. "You're a bloody ninny who risked her life because of a stupid... stupid..." He groaned. "I'm not talking about bloody Orlesians now."

"I did not risk my life." She bit back a gasp at the new positioning where he jolted his knees to shallowly thrust inside her. Dyrfinna's head lolled back and he laved at her pulse point on her neck. She couldn't speak, the only feelings she had was the unbelievable burn of desire and pleasure.

He stopped when she was nearly upon the brink, a sudden seriousness overtaking him as he forced her to look at him square in the eyes. "Repeat. I promise not to do stupid things because of anger."

"Loghain... you!" She nearly screamed. "I promise!"

"I promise what?"

"I promise not to do stupid things because of anger!" And with that he started to rub into her nub again, the bounce of his knees sliding her in those deep, short thrusts over his cock. It was too much, so over sensitive now - so damned ready. She felt every second of the brink as she fell over it, all her muscles contracting tight from her chest down to her curling toes, guttural, primal noises escaping her lips.

Loghain joined her in falling over that brink, roaring and gripping her around the hips, the sweat beaded on his forehead. They calmed together, just breathing, staring at the other for signs of coherent thought in the least.

He cupped her jaw in his palm, fingers soothing under her ear and gently massaging into the flush skin of her scalp behind there. "You don't have to risk yourself so much. Maker's breath Finna..." He swallowed roughly, unable to finish his utterance. "I was so damned worried about you. You're not allowed to get hurt if I can stop it."

She snorted softly, leaning back. "You do not have to worry." She soothed, the anger gone in place of understanding. He was being a typical man, and she understood that. The same instinctual need in him to protect - and why wouldn't there be? Sigfrost's pelt she was stupid for not realising. "I will not do things that worry you so."

He sighed, the edge of his mouth curling in a half smile as he toppled her to her side of the bed. "You're going to hate me now." She rolled her eyes. Why? Was his overprotective nature really that bad? She'd been in the wrong and she had enough confidence to know that.

"Why?" She gently trailed her hand down the hair on his chest, tracing the silvery scars beneath the thick black hair. A true warrior had many scars but Loghain had more than his fair share.

He traced the one on her stomach from the Tevinter shaman in the Alienage, still slightly red. "I found out why there were Orlesians attacking your clan."

Dyrfinna trained her face neutral. "Go on."

He went on, telling her about Brother Genetivi and a quest he was on to find the Ashes of Andraste An Brona and had gone missing in his quest, about how he was researching the Avvars, the Frostbacks and also dragon cults. That his research was in the library and if she could have a peek at it with Thorvald, if he was speaking out of his arse they'd tell the Chantry (who were threatening to call an Exalted March) to roll in the mud and finger themselves - it's nothing to do with the Avvars.

If it looked promising however... they'd have to try to find the man and stop more war coming to a country due to be torn apart by darkspawn. In her opinion it was just wonderful timing. "And what are we to do about the darkspawn? They attack places in Ferelden where we should have our dwarves, your army and the shaman already marching alongside us over the skies on griffons - we should be seeking out the Archdemon!"

"Our best bet would be splitting up. Some of us who'll understand the Old Ferelden going after the crazy codger and the others at least trying to get the Dalish." Loghain looked away. "Blights... according to what information I've ferreted out last years, we can't be torn apart by the Chantry or Orlesians or this civil war while the darkspawn are being held back."

"I will look at the information but I believe I know where these ashes, should they still exist - are. Whether it is where Genetivi is, I do not know."

* * *

Dyrfinna found Thorvald in the library already, eating chunky soup as he poured over a book and put pins in a map upon the wall. "Ah, sister. I guess the dragon warrior told you then?"

"Thane Maferath's ancestral Hold." She crossed her arms. "Where is it then?"

He walked briskly to the map and pointed to one of the pins. "Genetivi should be here - he supposed as we both did. But his writings. I believe... and I am not completely sure... but I think I know where Korth was bound."

Dyrfinna stilled, looking at the fellow Avvar. "Where?"

"They copied the ancient Tevene. They... unbound the Mountain Father and placed Him into the body... of a dragon as they did their own Gods."

"Sigfrost's pelt!" She groaned. "Where?"

"In Tevinter." Thorvald sighed. "Brother Genetivi is a genius. He could hold secrets even not written down here on Hakkon Wintersbreath and The Lady of the Skies. He could know where Uvolla shrouded Herself."

"We had better hope he yet lives then. We assemble the griffons and go directly to... what is the lowlander name of the site?"

"He notes it as called 'Haven', Genetivi found as - but I will not be going with you." She looked back at him. "The painted lowlander Riordan is going to scout ahead Loghain's army, looking for the Archdemon as it were and will need a griffon to do so and someone capable of caring and riding the gentle beasts. I volunteered."

She nodded, sighing. "Then Korth give you strength and Uvolla Her empathy to withstand being around him, I know I would not." Thorvald snorted a short laugh.

"Exactly. You are needed to do this, to read what information will be at the ancestral Hold and interrogate any shaman you find on how to unbind the Gods. Then you will need to find the nomadic children of Shartan and gain their aide. I know you will do this sister... I feel it in my bones."

He looked glumly at the map. "I will continue reading what I can to help but it looks to be perilous if he thought learning of dragon cults... I assume he was onto something big regarding not only our own Gods. There is speak of elvish Gods bound by Tevinters too. I would bet my stipend for the year the cultists that live in this Haven are trying to unbind more Gods and bind them to more dragons. To recreate the Tevene ideal."

"These people need be stopped." She growled. "We leave tonight upon griffons, as many people as we can."

And with that they nodded, knowing what had to be done. It was more than searching for this lost genius of the Chantry and hoping he lived. It was stopping people from recreating what the Tevinters did.

"I will be gone for when you return. Imhar's wit and Sigfrost's knowledge. This place will be full of ancient Avvar entrapments and from the fevrency of his writings Genetivi will search for these Ashes until his dying breath if needs be."

"Take Leliana with you too, and you will need a shaman so Morrigan also." Thorvald rolled his eyes. "Send word to Kinloch Hold to get them to send the shaman for the army and use General Fellhammer's runes once you reach the army so teh dwarves start their march. We will go after the Dalish after securing Genetivi. Then you will scout Flemeth and find out what we suspect - and if we should kill the woman or not. We will join you at the army as soon as we can."

He nodded in acceptance. "Korth's strength."

"Hakkon temper you." She continued.

"Lady of the Skies give Her blessing." He wiped a thumb down his curling horn of Imhar tattoo on his cheek gesturing it at her.

"Uvolla Her empathy." She wiped her own Hakkon banding and pressed her thumb to his.

"Sigfrost's knowledge." He smirked.

"And Imhar's wit." They parted thumbs, striking across their own tattoos.

The plan was set.

"Oh, and you will be the Warden in charge. Do not let the painted lowlanders overpower you."

Thorvald laughed, barking almost. "Aye, and Hakkon created the summer months! I am so glad I will have the mabari as friendly faces!"

She shook her head, grinning at his gaiety in the face of standing with the people they were not too keen on leading. Dyrfinna went to leave when Thorvald caught her on the shoulder. She turned to him with an arched eyebrow.

"Do you want me to get the ropes knotted?" He asked, all the laughter lines off his face, severity in place instead.

"No brother." She shook her head. "This is different, not traditional in either lowlander or our culture and neither of us will bow to the other." Dyrfinna turned again to go out of the room before adding. "I will be unbound from knots when we unbind a God, no sooner than that."

* * *

Oghren complained about getting up in the night to 'fly on a bloody winged thing' and go on 'a sodding stupid quest - there ain't gonna be no darkspawn there!'.

Dyrfinna, Silmarwen, Kornelius and Loghain each took a griffon. Bethany rode with Simarwen, Carver with Loghain, Alistair with Dyrfinna and Oghren begrudgingly on the back of Kornelius' griffon.

Thorvald waved them off with Leliana and the two hounds yapped. Morrigan and Riordan nowhere to be seen.

"This'll be fun right? I didn't get woken up in the middle of the night just to fall off a griffon?" Alistair shouted once they were up in the air, the wind rushed around them, the stars the only light alongside the distant gas lamps below them, getting further away.

Korth's throne it was wonderful to be out of the city of Denerim.

Dyrfinna turned her head at the ex-templar holding with an almost scared tightness around her middle. "Not at all."

"This is always fucking awesome!" Silmarwen shouted.

"Sodding skies. Not natural for a dwarf!" Oghren groaned into the cold night air. "My Mammie always said 'don't go to the surface, you'll fall into the skies!' then 'get your lazy, drunk arse out of bed' - Ancestors tits I never believed her!"

"You didn't pack the griffon with your liquors did you?" Bethany shouted at the dwarf over the rushing, biting winds.

"Of course my drunken little passenger did. What else would you expect? Clean smalls, a razor, soap and a cuddly bronto?" Kornelius snarked.

"I oughta smack you for that sparklefingers but I ain't falling off, para-thingy or not!" Oghren bellowed.

"Then we have an accord- DON'T DRINK ON THE GRIFFON!"

"What a good idea, at least he's not drinking and driving the winged beast." Alistair snorted behind her.

"Alistair - hold any tighter and I will be unable to breathe." Dyrfinna hissed loudly behind her. He loosened his grip. "Thank you."

"So did Loghain buy you a goat?" Alistair asked.

"Do you want to test your parachute Alistair?" She asked sweetly. What was it with men recently! Knots and goats!

* * *

Thorvald hated being the person in charge. Asgrim and Carver's mabari 'Bruiser' were curled up together like father and son despite their obvious lack of relation at the base of the bed, both whimpering softly in their sleep. Bruiser missed his new master but there was no way the pup could stand the cold and wind atop a griffon.

It seemed Riordan would have his way of walking to the darkspawn. Asgrim too... hounds and flying did not mix well.

He awoke to see the elven girl Gloriana already in the room, a blackened eye on her lightly tanned face. He snapped up, immediately awake. The girl looked over at him, her non-puffy eye widened in shock. It was luck he'd started wearing clothes at night - if just because of the Morrigan incident in Orzammar. "What happened?" He didn't mean to roar the words but why would someone hurt the sweet child of Shartan that served the foods and tidied the rooms? She was a lovely girl!

"Nothing Ser!" Gloriana squeaked, covering her bruised eye with her hand. The dogs looked up, yawning before Bruiser whined at the sight of another being in pain.

"Korth's throne nothing! Who did that!" He demanded, striding quickly across the room.

"Nobody! I walked into a door!" She cowered slightly, ears drooped. Thorvald stilled, realising he was not putting the girl at ease. He sighed, wiping a hand through his hair.

"Could you tell me please Gloriana? Somebody hurt you." _And I intend to hurt them twice as hard. _Threaded underneath but still there.

She looked hesitantly around the room and rushed up to him, her starchy, white cuffs with brass buttons from her blouse scratching on his back. "Please. I didn't do anything wrong. I'll... I'll work for free!"

He stepped back, shocked to the bone. "No. No you will not. You deserve something for the work you do. Now tell me who hurt you?"

She whimpered, fingers twisting together. She looked so much like a child having been told off. "A merchant thought I'd stolen the coin I used to buy the food for the Compound. Called me a knife-ear and threatened to have the guards informed. I said it was my employer's coin and then he just... just hit me. Called me a liar."

She slumped onto the floor. "Please don't tell anyone! I'll cover it up, this isn't that bad!"

He sighed. "I will help you cover it up but go to Victor. He will sort something out to prove you are not a thief. You are a lovely girl Gloriana, and much nicer than a lot of women by far, a strong worker and diligent in what you do. Nobody deserves to be hit when working... unless it is darkspawn. They hit back though."

She giggled lightly at his words, looking up at him, those shining blue eyes gleaming. "Now I will get dressed and Victor will be informed."

Victor would run the Compound while the Wardens were away. Somebody needed to do it, there were people who worked here and animals. There was the farm Dyrfinna was setting up. The world kept on moving while they were absent from a place. Gloriana looked shocked. "You're... you're one of the Avvars... of course you are. I saw you get that slaver in the neck with an arrow. I'd... I'd like to say thank you for that Ser."

"It is what I do." Thorvald shrugged. He'd not thought it was a noble act, just the right thing to do. No thanks were needed for doing the right thing, it was what he'd been taught as a child, what he'd taught his boys. "Now get a poultice on that bruise, I can make my own bed today."

"Did you want breakfast?" She asked, standing up and dusting off her skirts.

"Yes, a round of the toasted cheese Fayguns would be wonderful." He nodded. The child of Shartan rushed out of the room with a rustle of linen.

Imhar's laughter that was a horrible bruise. He would have beaten the merchant that hurt her black and blue for his treatment of her. Why did lowlanders insist that there had to be such stratification of people? It served none!

But tomorrow they would have to leave to scout ahead the dragon warrior's army, they would start the search for the Archdemon and have the allies they'd gathered start fighting the Blight. It was not as if he had enough time to change the mindset of a population, of a world.

Perhaps he could ask someone to get the children of Shartan here in the Compound trained in military arts? The Blight might spread to Denerim and they should be apt to defend themselves. That would be useful to them!

There were a lot of bows in the armoury. That would be his task today, he, Riordan and Leliana would teach the elves the basics of holding and firing arrows. Maybe even arrow-craft!


	35. What Makes a God?

Author note: I have another damned idea for The Daughter of the Mountain universe... but AU to it! It's a hellish time for my muse with NaNoWriMo being written (non-fanfic). It'd basically be Dyrfinna's clan being slaughtered when she's very early in her Ash Warrior training - so before she even got her adult Hakkon Banding and marriage to Erlend. She ends up wandering into the lowlander world, muddling along and figuring out the world until she meets Loghain.

There'd be romance between Dyr and Loghain because I'd have to pair them.

Then the Blight follows canon, Loghain doesn't charge at Ostagar and the fallout of it all with The Warden doing the Blight campaign in the background...

Magda actually hates me! I have Night Coconuts, A Taste of Magic, Escape! and my DA2 and Inquisition fics to get done in this universe then she goes and does this? This? I swear I'll do anything not to write DA2... like I need coercing into writing Dyrfinna! Maddening muse!

WORST MIGRAINE EVER - I apologise for any lull in quality in this chapter, if bad enough please tell me and I'll re-write.

BBC Four got put on and I found out an intriguing thing I should have known - Kirkwall is a real place. In the Scottish Isles.

And now, see if you guess my huge spoilers once having read this chapter. Dare you. Winners receive one-shots on Satinalia Prompt Presents (my one-shot series).

* * *

Dyrfinna set up her tent, watching how Silmarwen put the griffons to rest by taking off their saddles and harnesses. It was almost as if she were rather good at everything she attempted - as well as having the uncanny magic and taint senses. "Is there something you cannot do Mari?" She asked the elven shaman who much preferred her name shortened.

She turned, face a picture of innocence when she proclaimed. "Can't stop fucking swearing. Then I'd be Andraste Herself rein-fucking-carnate."

That made the Avvar laugh softly, after all - they were going after the ashes of Andraste. "Does anyone else feel like their fingers are going to drop off? No... just me then?" Alistair was shivering, unused to the cold air whipping around them as it had on the griffons. He was leant over the campfire, hands almost in the flames.

Dyrfinna shook her head and rolled her eyes. Silmarwen looked back at him. "Magical flames for your frostbitten fingers?" The shocking thing was the cooing tone and lack of the word 'fucking'. Silmarwen liked to confuse though.

"Will it burn my fingers off?" Alistair asked.

"Oh yes, but they won't be falling off from the cold now will they?" The elf grinned widely and extended her staff outwards, a ball of flame on the end that spluttered out quickly.

"I don't know what it is about the women Wardens but you're all crazy." Alistair chuckled.

Bethany looked up from the stew she was stirring and pointed a barley grain and gravy covered wooden spoon at him. "You'd better believe it." She croaked, throat hoarse.

"We should get some throat soothers made up." Dyrfinna sighed, feeling the scratch in her own throat from all the shouting on the griffons. She moved in the snowy ground, the crunch of it beneath her heavy boots to open a medicine bag, whiskey and honey as well as curative herb and spice packets within. "This should put us all as right as snow."

"It's right as rain Dyr, right as rain." Carver pursed his lips.

"There is nothing right about rain. It snows most of the year in the Frostbacks except for six weeks of summer. Rain is strange, snow is usual and comforting." She picked up a ball of snow in her gauntlet and crumbled it as if to prove her point.

Silmarwen shivered over, having put the four griffons in their blankets for sleep. "I disagree, right as dust. No snow or rain in the bastarding circle but plenty of dusty tomes." She sat on one of the saddles on the ground and rubbed her fingers together. "Now how'd you make this throat soother? Let's get some magic cooking on our throats."

Oghren started laughing uncontrollably, all eyes turned to him, waiting for what he was going to say. The dwarf wiped his finger under his eyes. "Just get some sodding dwarven ale in yous. Nothing warmer than getting pissed." And to illustrate his point he swigged at his beard flask. "Now, I need the little dwarfs latrine." He picked himself up on wobbly feet.

Dyrfinna made up some hot water, whiskey and honey with nutmeg to soothe their throats with Silmarwen. Carver and Loghain set up the tents after having already dug the latrine... it was all quite cosy at the base of the mountain but the tension was still in the air about their quest that was very likely worth nothing for them. Could they find one lowlander in the ancient Hold of Thane Maferath? And what of who inhabited the place? This could be a dangerous, fruitless attempt at stopping the Chantry from attacking the clans.

* * *

Thorvald sat atop the griffon and stared at the prototype crossbow ballistae ahead him, he held onto the leather wrapped handles and it pivoted on the wooden construct. He reached down to the quiver of bolts and loaded one.

He looked into the sky and the bullseye on canvas that hung from the top of Fort Drakon. The wind whipped around the archer and he dug his knees in to make the griffon hover in the air.

The wings beat furiously and they bobbed up and down. He took in a deep breath and moved the ballistae by the handles with the bobbing then unlatched the bolt.

It soared in the air and hit the middle ring of the three ring bullseye. Korth be damned that was utterly amazing! He'd give the carpenters their coin to outfit all thirty of the griffons they had with the ballistae! Slings for spears would be needed as the Avvars were gathering to ride what griffons that would be unmanned by Wardens. But it was ridiculously easy to operate the ballistae - it was a case of placing the bolt in the slot and unlatching the bolt. You had to pull the taut metal string back with a metallic hook and then it was repetition.

The elves of the Compound had taken well to the basics of archery, their arrowcraft was still fledgling but the man that gave him a shock was Ollisinder the blind griffon handler - he had been a Night Elf under command of the dragon warrior - his arrowcraft was beyond masterly.

Shianni was also amazing at concocting poisons and chemical mixtures that exploded and burnt the items they landed on. The Wardens would have an arsenal of epic proportions when the Archdemon was to be taken on. Oh yes - Urthemiel wouldn't know what hit her!

Thorvald brought the griffon down to land in the Compound and unclipped his harness to jump off. He put a hand up to his eyes as the griffon changed into the form of a slender shaman, Morrigan. The witch had taken well to the new form from her observations of griffons in flight and at rest. She was able to do her spells whilst in the griffon form.

Perhaps it would be an idea to outfit the griffons with blades on their forelimbs to attack at close range? That might be an idea.

Riordan was suffering worse nightmares - he was sure of the position of the Archdemon and so they'd started waiting for the shaman of Kinloch Hold and the dwarves of Orzammar. The war would start soon in full force. He could only hope Dyrfinna would sort out the quest to find Genetivi and coerce the Dalish children of Shartan to their cause. They would need every able bodied warrior, archer and shaman against the Tevinter Old God.

* * *

Loghain wrapped his cloak tighter around him, the snow was heavier than they'd expected for this time of the year. The griffons couldn't carry on any further in the weather. Bethany and Alistair had set up an encampment at the base of the mountain they were trekking up to look after the great beasts outside of the bloody snow.

Finna was up at the front with Oghren and Silmarwen to sense for dangers. Carver and Kornelius trudged alongside him, both with teeth chattering.

Silmarwen put her hand up to halt them. "Something that feels like those broken sigils from the circle." She announced into the biting wind. "Have we found the place?"

Finna glanced over at the elf, snow having pooled on her shoulders in small clumps. "If Thane Maferath's sigils still work I would drink darkspawn blood yet again!"

Silmarwen punched the air, cursing up her own type of storm in happiness. Along the lines of 'Who's the fucking awesome elf? Who found the ancient place? I can't hear you fuckers!' then cackling laughter. Oghren passed over his flask to her and she wrinkled her nose at it and squinted one unnaturally green eye inside the top. "Again? I thought choking on dwarven ale was a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

"Mine then." Finna grabbed the flask from the mage and took a swig. "Ah! Nothing like dwarven ale, full of good dirt!"

Loghain groaned, snatched the flask and tossed it lightly back to the dwarf who looked bereft without his fix of alcohol. "So what's it you know about this place - you had an inkling before you even asked Thorvald in the library. What's here?" He pointedly asked toward the woman with her cheeks reddening almost a dark as that burgundy band across her face.

"Nothing pertinent."She sniffed, turning about and walking quicker.

"You know something!" Loghain was getting the uncanny ability to tell when the Avvar lied, and now was one such time.

Finna turned back around, sadly if he was any judge. "I thought logically that if the ashes of Andraste exist and I assumed Genetivi was intelligent enough too. We are headed to a place called Haven... the site of Thane Maferath's clan. But... Thorvald and I both believe there are people here who seek to recreate the Tevene ideal of binding Gods to draconic bodies, Avvars bereft of our ways... making them immortal creatures here in Thedas. They must be stopped."

And with that she flounced away, grumbling in Old Ferelden that definitely sounded like curses. Loghain rolled his eyes. "Well then, that sounds fucking wonderful, Gods in dragon bodies! Dibs on the Maker!" Silmarwen snarked.

"Oh! Dibs on Hakkon." Carver chuckled.

"You's all gonna be waiting in a long line. All those sodding dragons go to the Mighty Oghren!" A ginger tangle of plaited beard announced. Loghain sighed at it all and trudged up the mountain in the footfalls already created.

"Don't get me wrong, but that means..." Kornelius trailed off, not disguising his accent whatsoever since the incident in Howe's dungeons. "I feel all blasphemous just thinking about it."

"Thinking about what?" He asked lowly. The Nevarran looked over and picked at some dry skin from the bridge of his nose.

"The Gods... all of them have to be spirits of the Fade. There's a horrid history of binding spirits to mortal bodies. You can't bind an idea to a dragon, it'd just be a normal dragon and easy enough to take down. But a spirit, well you bind a spirit to any mortal being and it makes them immortal." Kornelius sniffed and took in a deep breath. "I wonder if the Commander knows that? Oh... didn't she say that there's a bear God in her Parthenon?"

"What of it?" Silmarwen asked, the ever present information sponge answering first.

"I met a bear in the Fade once when I had a nightmare - when I was very small. Huge creature, some mumbo jumbo about needing to test my wits." He laughed hesitantly. "Almost forgot it."

"Elrohir met a bear in the Fade when he was Harrowed." Silmarwen's green eyes widened comically. "Holy shitting Creators and Andraste! The Gods are fucking spirits! I wonder... what happened to all the others?"

"Dyr would know... at least her version." Carver shrugged. "But I think it's talk like that that caused the usurping of the Maker's City and all that?"

Silmarwen stood there with mouth agape. "How did I not fucking see that? The Black City in the Fade! It's in the Fade! Spirits get called The Maker's first children... fuck." She grinned manically. The elf ran up to the warrior and planted a kiss smack on his lips. "You're a clever one mabari-arse!"

The warrior blushed a dark red and looked down at the elf that was tying her curly brown hair up, sorting odd strands from being caught in her hooped earrings. "Er... thanks I guess."

"Just so you know, one-off. My kisses are straight from the sewers of knowledge." She winked and pulled her cloak around her. "Oi! Dyr! Have I got a question for you!"

The elf started sprinting as fast as she could after Finna. Loghain could see a certain elf decorating the snow soon enough and sped up to protect the stupid girl and stop a possibly angry woman from making a mistake.

A he neared them Finna was laughing. Huh? "You fucking well knew?" Silmarwen laughed back. "And you _still_ worship your Gods?"

"You know do you not? Will you still worship? Why not worship something you know to be real?" Finna smirked over at the mage. "So who figured this out amongst you?"

"Me and Kornelius actually. Say... there ain't a bear God you worship right that isn't bound like you said?"

"Sigfrost, God of Knowledge, keeper of the magic Morrigan herself uses? Aye, I recall a bear God. He is so sleepy Korth once mistook his huge hibernating form as another mountain." The Avvar warrior shook with laughter. "Who was visited by Sigfrost?"

"My brother... and Kornelius. You're really kooky you know. Fucking kooky if I'm any guess." The elf burst into laughter and Finna put her hand out onto her shoulder to silence her, a great solemnity passing between the two.

"Please tell me. What is kooky? I have been called it before but never knew the meaning." The words were so earnest it broke through possibly any pity into the realm of ludicrous laughter. Even Loghain burst a short snort. "Why do people laugh at that!"

"It means... oh Maker... it means weird. Kooky means eccentric!" Carver chuckled.

"How am I kooky?" Which resulted in more laughter. An exasperated tattooed woman carried on tracking up the snowy mountain.

* * *

Dyrfinna was still annoyed with her Wardens by the time they passed the markers of the edge of a Hold. It was as they suspected, people still lived here that didn't know or didn't have the capabilities of fixing sigils.

She kept on guard. Avvars that behaved like Tevinters. It might be an idea to find out what had caused them to falter from the codes and honour they lived in. What would make a man change? The ballads told of the powers the Gods had, the power over life and death like the Lady of the Skies that could even reverse death should she see that they were needed in the world for whatever reason - be it as a person of greatness or as the ancestor that would contribute to the eventual birth of a person that was needed in the world.

It was strange... taking a journey to a place of the ancient Avvars and what they thought was happening here. She intended answers, and she knew who would be here to give them.

They saw the first fences of logs, made more solid by wattle and dorb and she thumped her shield on the gates. "Í nafni Korth opna þetta hlið! Ég myndi tala við kappi Kolgrim Ap Thorarin!" She shouted, hopefully someone would hear her.

There was a commotion inside the Hold followed by a sliding window being opened and green eyes set in a craggy face appeared in their sight. "And who presumes to speak with the Thane?"

Oh Imhar's laughter! He was the Thane! "Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Aunoar, if you know the name you will bid me and my group enter or fear the wrath of Ash Warriors and a shaman of life and death."

A greater commotion on the other side before green eyes came back. "We know the name... a test then, to prove your identity. Come, come, bonny Lynne; tell us, tell us where you have been, were you hot, were you cold?"

"Chasing rabbits 'round the Hold. Come, come, bonny Lynne; tell us, tell us where you have been." She finished the old rhyme, remembering the way he used to sing it. It chilled her to sing the child's song once more.

The window shut and the sound of wooden bars being moved was sounded. They were allowed in then.

"I heard your son's name there in that Old Ferelden speak..." Carver breathed. "You know someone here then or..."

Dyrfinna sighed. The truth would come out soon enough. "I do. I fear I have lied to you all. When we have a moment alone I will tell you all."

She glanced back to see Loghain with his most trained neutral face. Oh he was thinking - it was his all purpose face of not giving away anything. But Silmarwen, Carver and Kornelius all looked shocked... Oghren just looked drunk.

The great gates were opened, revealing some faces tattooed in the clan bandings, some even Chasind but many adults without any tattoos. It were as if a lot of the clan here were curious about them.

The man with green eyes looked her up and down. "The daughter of the mountain comes to Haven Hold. Extraordinary." He stated.

"I wish to speak with Kolgrim Ap Thorarin and no other. Lead us to him." She stated back stiffly. Green-eyes in furs and leathers rolled his eyes and motioned for them to follow him without a word.

The Wardens followed the man, the Hold was swept of most of the snow in the way further up. Loghain leaned into her, gauntlets settling on her shoulders and his breath brushing warm against her cold cheek. "Explain and quickly - who are we seeing and why do you know someone here?" He whispered.

"I lied. Long ago to you in particular... Thane Maferath's Hold is the place Avvars travel to when exiled from their clans - almost as tradition. They forsake the matriarchal naming, as I am Dyrfinna An Nikolina and any child of mine would have my name. They take their father in name. If he was anywhere it would be here."

"Cryptic. Who is this? Your son's real father or?" He purposely left that hanging. She turned her face into his and pushed her mouth almost upon his ear.

"My father never died of an illness. He was exiled from the clan. Kolgrim is my father." She gulped back, feeling the weight of that lie having been lifted from her. It was a great shame to her, having her father been exiled. One of the two warriors that survived the painted lowlanders... he and her mother.

He was doing these horrid things if they were true but he was also the only person here who she could hold any leverage over. She pulled away from Loghain, trying to read his reaction. "And..." His face was a war of emotions. "The daughter of the mountain business?"

"He was fanatical that because he and my mother had been the only ones to have survived the painted lowlanders - as I told you, only two warriors survived of my clan those thirty years ago. He believed any children borne of their marriage would be as if birthed by Korth and the Lady of the Skies themselves, he lost our ways and was exiled for it. Why my mother never re-married because their marriage was never formally ended. I... I remember so little of him other than his face and the songs he sung to me as a babe."

Loghain drew her into a hug, the were left lagging behind the other Wardens a while but they could catch up. "Come on. I have to do this." Dyrfinna took in a deep breath. One way or another... something terrible would happen here.

Loghain nodded mutely and held her hand for a moment as they carried further up the mountain to catch up to green-eyes and the rest of the Wardens.

The others arched eyebrows at them in question. Loghain put a hand up in his gesture of 'later'.

* * *

Thorvald watched as his fellow clansmen flew overhead. They would find the last known place of the army and then report back on where they would go.

He readied Mr Rabbit with the camping gear they had and chivvied on the black mabari that didn't want to leave the last known place he'd known his mistress to have been. He was leaving Bruiser in the capable hands of Gloriana in the Compound - too young to go in the army ranks.

They would have the dwarves arriving in Denerim according to the pigeon messenger within the next three weeks with a compliment of eight golems. They left notes with Victor on where they were heading according to landmarks and would leave a trail that way.

The shaman of Kinloch Hold and Jainen (another circle that decided to throw their lot into the war) would arrive in two weeks with a templar guard. Thirty shaman in total with the same in templar handlers, the bulk coming from Jainen due to the casualties in Kinloch Hold. The pigeons were quick birds - he sent them back to their places of origin with the word to follow their notes to where the army was.

A lowlander that was to be married to Queen Anora - one Richard had told them to report to Commander Cauthrien and that the information that the Highever men and the remaining nobles that had deigned to have sent men before would have their troops following also.

They were going to war with the darkspawn. Lady of the Skies protect them.

* * *

Bethany finally saw some visibility in the blizzard as it started to calm down. "Do you see a village?"

Alistair looked over at her and peered with a hand over his eyes where she was looking. "Yeah... I... I'm thinking what one it is?"

"I can't tell without a map." Bethany admitted. "But we're running out of supplies. Perhaps we could troop the griffons down a bit and see if there's anything we can do for food or coin for food?"

Alistair nodded at that and clicked his tongue. The white, and three grey griffons turned their bird-like heads toward the two Wardens inquistively. "Come on, maybe there's rabbits for you to clear some farms of." He chivvied them.

Understanding beasts purred at that - loudly, ambling their walk in following them. They'd be back soon. Dyr said they'd be a while so they had time to return.

"So... we'll be going back to Denerim at some point for the Landsmeet right?" Alistair looked nervous and that peaked Bethany's curiosity.

"I would think so. After this and the Dalish treaty - that should take roughly two months more or less so yeah." She pursed her lips, waiting for his point.

"Yeah, the Dalish are notoriously difficult to find." He laughed hesitantly. "So, I think I have a sister."

Bethany looked over at the blond man and smiled. "Other than your kingly half-brother?"

"Oh ha ha. Yes." He snorted. "I was just wondering..."

"Yes?"

"Could we go and... meet her? I've never met her and have a few questions." He stuck his tongue in the side of his mouth, his cheek bulging and his eyes hopeful.

"Why not? What questions in particular, you can get off topic every so often." Bethany admitted.

"I want to know about her, about my mother and... well Loghain won't say anything being all tight-lipped about everything and he was best friends with my father. So... she'd know right?"

"Alright then. We'll see her. Do you know where she lives?"

Alistair smiled. "32 Market Lane. I found this old record when I lived in Redcliffe about this girl called Goldanna and her mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe that died in childbirth the same year I was born."

Bethany furrowed her brow. Alistair may have spoken fondly of Arl Eamon and jokingly spoken about being brought up by a mabari in the kennels... but from what she'd heard she distinctly thought Alistair wasn't treated well at all considering his birth and what it could mean to Arl Eamon. That and the fact he'd seemed quite upset about how icily Queen Anora had spoken to him - like he was trying to take her throne. All because Arl Eamon had announced his existence to the Landsmeet after Ostagar. It all smelled of the conspiracies and mystery stories Miriam liked to read.

It all, she hadn't met the Arl but she wanted to hit him for mistreating Alistair. He'd put him into the Chantry to be a templar! He'd have known the templars took lyrium at the least and how addictive it was from the wasted, glassy eyed ex-templars that begged for them when they retired. He'd willingly given a boy up for that. A boy that could have possibly been the next in line for the throne if not for their status of Grey Wardens!

But it could be that he wanted that to happen... and have a man addicted to lyrium on the throne like a spare card in his back pocket - to be controlled.

Maker - she was thinking like her elder sister now!

It actually made the Warden-mage sick to her stomach just thinking about it that way though. Made her really want to hurt the man. "You went quiet for a while... are you alright Bethany?"

"I'm fine, just a bit tired." She lied quickly. "Wait..." She put a hand up to halt them, a rustle of feathers and muted squalls as the griffons stopped too.

"Oh I feel it too." Alistair breathed, a huff of smoky steam from his mouth as he stood there, his hand drifting to his sword. "Darkspawn."

Bethany reached for her staff in the sling on her back, the silverite quarterstaff tipped with a jagged blade coming with practised ease into her hands and she subconsciously thought on how much lyrium she had in her bag on her belt.

Five potent vials, enough to refill her pool of mana fifteen times and mildly addle her if there were as many darkspawn as she thought she could feel. It'd wear off and hopefully there'd be people in this village who were going to fight alongside them.

They ran, the griffons taking flight above them, whipping the winds headlong into the two Wardens. The darkspawn were here - it'd only be a matter of time before they sensed Wardens nearby or destroyed the village. "Keep the darkspawn off me Alistair, I'll make sure you don't get too badly hurt."

"You wouldn't want to scar this face now would you?" He smirked good-naturedly, adjusting his shield on his arm.

* * *

The trek was long up the mountain until they reached a Chantry. Carver kept on glancing at the Constable and Commander, both looking anxious despite their best tries at hiding it. Now he was bloody well curious about what was going on.

The green-eyed sort of Avvar from what he'd gathered pushed open the doors and ushered them inside before closing the door behind them. "Another to our flock?" A... brother of the Chantry? Approached them, cane in hand and beard long down his chest.

"I wish to speak to Thane Kolgrim Ap Thorarin. Could you take us to him?" Dyr asked pointedly, the firmness of her voice belying the anxiousness she had.

Carver glanced over at the resident sewer of knowledge... that had kissed him. Maker he thought the elf mage was pretty and her joking about his mabari tattoo on his arse and the 'two eggs in a hanky' comment just seemed like jovial jabs. But... did Silmarwen like _like_ him? He pushed the thoughts out of his mind as the elder brother approached them and looked at Dyr in the eyes. "You have his eyes. The daughter of the mountain joins the faithful then." He looked over at Loghain next. "And the dragon warrior. Fortune smiles on us indeed. Follow me then, you may call me Revered Father Eirik Ap Roduulf."

He banged his cane on the floor and turned, surprisingly easy for a man of his age to be be completely honest. Silmarwen leaned up and brushed some of his growing hair off his ear, he should get it cut soon - or grow it out. "Blood mage. Should I tell the Commander or leave it if we're here to speak to this mysterious Kolgrim bloke?"

Carver's shoulders slumped. You just couldn't get far from blood mages. But whoever they were going to see... it wouldn't do to be covered in blood. "Think you could kill him from a distance if we need it?" He whispered back.

Revered Father Eirik... which was bloody weird. Chantries had Revered Mothers - and they weren't mages let alone blood mages, walked over to a bookcase and pulled a tome that looked like any other out and stepped back.

The bookcase made a mechanical clicking before swinging forwards, revealing a room behind it. The groaning inside the room set Carver's teeth on edge. What in the Maker's name?

Everyone else seemed to be on guard too if the sudden tensing of backs was any clue. "Oh have no heart toward the sinner in here. The Maker will judge him for his sins." They stepped through the secret door into the hidden room. The smell of blood assaulted his senses immediately followed by a man in bloody suit and cloak, his legs almost crushed from the looks of it.

It happened in a flash, Silmarwen and Kornelius struck as one, simultaneously freezing solid and shattering Revered Father Eirik with a stone fist. Shards of the man hit the walls, breaking further.

Dyr looked back at the two mages, eyes wide. "Why?" The only question.

"Because that's fucking Brother Genetivi if his caricatures in The Pursuit of Knowledge are true to life." Silmarwen pointed to the groaning man on the floor, in chains around his crushed ankles.

Kornelius ran over to him, hands lit up in blue. "I can heal this but it'll be time that does better than what I can do now. Let's see if I can staunch the bleeding just a bit to make him lucid." The Nevarran wiped a hand through his brown hair before laying them over Genetivi's chest.

The man on the floor groaned, sitting up with a series of clicks. "Maker's breath!" He exclaimed. "More of them! Just end it quickly!"

Dyr put a hand out in a gesture of surrender, palm empty and facing him. "Brother Genetivi? I am Warden Commander Dyrfinna, an Avvar and my people are being blamed for your disappearance, the Chantry is willing to force an Exalted March upon the Frostback Mountains, children and civilians will be slaughtered for simply living here. We must take you back to Denerim."

Genetivi blinked slowly as if processing that. "Then you've done a lot just coming after me. But there's no way I can leave right now. The things these people are doing and how close... I'm so close I can almost taste those ashes!"

Dyr sighed heavily. "The people here must be ended, would you know roughly where the warriors gather? I must speak to the Thane amongst them to stop this lunacy peaceably before I resort to violence."

Genetivi bit his lip. "It won't work. They're bloodletting and all sorts of unholy things with dragons and their eggs. That man is wholly mad, don't listen to a word he says." He warned, eyes shining in their righteousness.

"Where is he?" Carver asked, getting anxious himself with a dead person in pieces the people here would really hurt them to see dead by their hands.

"In a temple... further up the mountain. He goes there every day to watch over the things they do to the dragons." Genetivi looked over at a red metal medallion on the floor. "Pass that here."

Dyr furrowed her brow by nevertheless complied, passing it over. Genetivi looked at it and pressed the metal, almost changing shape fluidly under his fingers. "There, this is the key to the temple, very ancient Avvar secret I picked up from a clan I met in my travels."

"The Odelia clan stand with one survivor." Dyr bowed her head. "Will you we safe here while we head further up?"

Genetivi looked down at his half-fixed legs and pointed at the swung open bookcase. "Close that and whatever you do, bring back just a pinch of those ashes. Their curative properties could be the end of all diseases incurable by magic."

"If they are there we shall." Dyr nodded. Carver closed the bookcase to the hidden room, drawing a bolt across to stop it from opening from the other side. "Stay safe Brother Genetivi, we might be some time."

And with that they followed out of the door on the other side of the room that opened to rough, rocky mountain terrain, a huge cathedral-like structure just about visible through the snow.


	36. The Legacy of the Father (part one)

Author note: Ah... sod NaNoWriMo on a different story. This story stood at 180k(ish) words at the beginning of November so by the end of it I've got to get to 230k, I can do that or 240k(ish) due to author notes. The Daughter of the Mountain now makes a huge lot of sense other than being an Avvar barbarian from the Frostbacks - bet none a ya figured that little plot twist out! It's been in the cards since I started and it would make sense in people who live the way the Avvar do to exile the rotten apples out of their clans. Then said rotten apples going to a place that would bear some significance to what betrayal they'd have felt over what their people did.

Meeting Kolgrim... ooooh! You'll love me sooo much! It makes sense he'd wait for a certain person then makes do with The Warden.

Hope you enjoy this chapter because it was hell - my keyboard is slowly falling apart and me 'v' fell off I have to copy and paste 'v's - I need a new laptop! I mean, it's not like I don't have a character called Carver to write the name of or Nevarrans, Tevinters, vials and other words with 'v' in! Remember to R&R! From Apollo (The crazy writing machine) xxx

Ooh! Nearly 200 reviews! You know what that means? Right? One shot to the writer of review no. 200 but it can't just be 'nice chapter' because anyone can say that and you must have reviewed before. - my only rules. Let's see who wins then?

*grabs the popcorn to watch which reviewer kills another first*

* * *

Loghain kept glancing at Finna, trying to figure out what was actually going on.

"Korth's throne... a temple to Korth!" Finna exclaimed, gazing at the impressive cathedral-like structure ahead them behind the snowy shrouding. Loghain looked over to the others that were still confused as to why they would know who they're looking for.

"Finna, do you want to explain or..." He trailed off, watching her warring emotions before she sighed a yes that she would tell them all.

The Avvar explained that it was shameful to have a parent or even child that was exiled from the clan. And the little intricacies about naming from the mother and father. She told them exactly who this Thane Kolgrim was, and why he'd been exiled. Just who was leading what they were walking into and what she suspected was happening here.

Nobody interrupted her, bowled over by it all very likely. In the end Silmarwen just ran up to her and said. "Do you need a fucking hug?" Then gave one without waiting for an answer.

"So what's the plan Commander?" Kornelius asked as the women parted.

"We march into the temple of Korth and demand speak with my father for a safe passage through the place. I ask that if we can I speak to him, find out what made him do all of this... and if needs be we repeat a history here and slay him." She took a deep breath. "He would be my father no longer, just one of the ones that sired me."

"When'd you last see him?" Carver sniffed, pinching his lips to the side as they carried on up the craggy path.

"When I was but eight winters. The rhyme I used to gain our entry here was one he would sing to me. If he is still half the Ash Warrior he was before he will still carry his own ancestral weapon, an axe of no equal." Finna took a deep shuddering breath. "Can we speak of other things. How about all of your fathers?"

"Dead as a fucking doornail." Silmarwen shrugged. "I was out walking with him in the forests, my powers just manifest so I was making wisps of light in the air when we were attacked by templars inspecting the forest for an apostate that had gone on the run. Elrohir guessed what happened and when he manifest powers he demanded to find me in the circle. The Keeper let him of course and that's how we ended up where we are now I suppose."

"Dead." Carver sighed. "The wasting took him in the end rather than templars or anything. I used to be insanely jealous of Bethany getting her magic training from him, as strange as it sounds I actually wished I was a mage too for a while so I could have that time with him. But I think things worked out right, like I'm in the right place for me being a Grey Warden."

Loghain nodded at that, the boy was growing up a lot in the Wardens since he'd first met him. "So... me I guess. Well the sodder ain't breathing no more. Booze got him and he stumbled into a lava vent. Ma didn't shed a tear over the bastard though, used to beat her something chronic actually." Oghren sniffed. "Who's next? Grumpy pants? Sparklefingers?"

"I do hate that nickname." Kornelius sighed. "But if you must know, I would think still in his place as Freiherr Von Hunter Fell. Funnily enough - the very place the Old God Toth was taken down in the Towers Age. It used to be one of the few places that wasn't taken by the Orlesians and Tevinters after the Blight but it wasn't pretty I suppose and a lot of death would happen around an Old God dying."

"The wars around the Empire are long, I suppose we've been lucky in not having the chevaliers trying to take us back. Thank's to the Hero of River Dane of course." Carver chuckled. "What was it that got put in the official history books?"

Loghain grimaced at the very well known saying but said it anyway, with his own twist of course because the actual quote was ridiculous. "As long as the Hero of River Dane stands the Empire pisses in their prissy boots."

Oghren choked on his ale at that, splutters of the dark brown on the snow. Carver even laughed and Finna shot a pursed lip smile at him. "I like that fucking version." Silmarwen chuckled. "Much better than 'As long as the Hero of River Dane stands the Empire stays their swords, wary of crossing the power of the Ferelden barbarians and peasants.' Which is a bloody mouthful to say."

Finna was snorting at that, almost convulsing in the snow. "Barbarians! They call all of us barbarians!"

"Well yes." Loghain smirked at her. "Perhaps there's a reason when some of us scrub out a life in the mountains and throw spears at them, as well as the superstitious nonsense that Wyvern Hold does to keep the bastards it's just a Ferelden quirk."

She looked shocked. "You remembered? Of course you would."

"So you gonna do the dishing on your father grumpy pants? What'd that Sparklefingers boss say... 'sharing is caring' or some Ancestors forsaken bollocks." Oghren grunted.

Loghain looked down at the dwarf with a glower. "Sore subject methinks dwarf." The elven mage nudged said dwarf with the end of her staff.

"Well he's dead of course too." Loghain shrugged. "Gave his life for Maric and me to get out of being killed by Orlesians."

"Any parent would give their life for their child." Finna nodded, snaking an armoured arm around his armoured waist. "The burden of being a parent."

"Don't we know it." Loghain agreed, being one of the two parents in the group there - with the slight exception of Kornelius but they knew he'd been willing to give up his freedom as a free mage for his daughter he never knew. The Nevarran was very silent at the moment, as if lost in his thought. "Fewer things than your country or your child more noble to give your life for."

"Ja. Very true." The Nevarran sniffed. They moved under the entrance to this Korth temple, the walls crumbled so that only the pillars held the slate roof up. But the wooden door, snow and ice stuck to the wooden fibres was intact, brass detail-work over the front.

Finna parted off him and ran her hand over the detailing - oddly familiar if he thought about it. "And so the dragons were the epitome of strength, Korth their true father, they must continue for life to exist... The Lady of the Skies has made sure the blood that is needed to keep them alive will never die and will go to any lengths to preserve their life."

The tone of the words shivered down even his spine, foreboding and stinking of crazies. "Well? What'd that mean?" Oghren shrugged, unaffected unlike everyone else.

"Dragon blood is a powerful thing if truth be told. Why the Tevinters chose to bind their own Gods to them. Even to a human, dwarf or elf the power within their blood would give untold power to those that drank it, similar to how even we, as Wardens have drunk the blood of a tainted dragon as well as darkspawn blood. The Tevinters always supposed that it was the key to immortality and eternal health and youth. It all makes a chilling sense unfortunately. If their experiments here are one iota of what was done Ages ago we will face many dangers within here."

"Reavers." Oghren nodded. Very surprised to say the least faces turned to the half-liquor dwarf.

"I was going to say that. Miriam was a mercenary and a smuggler after father died, once had to transport a single vial of dragon blood - worth over twenty sovereigns for an eggcup full. People drink it to become Reavers the easy way."

"But in Nevarra it is tradition for all warriors to hunt down a High Dragon, kill then eat the heart to become as such. Warriors without compare." Their resident Nevarran added.

"Would that make one a true dragon warrior?" Silmarwen smirked. Loghain grimaced at the Avvar term that Thorvald still called him, and thank the Maker Finna didn't still because it was embarrassing and ridiculous to boot.

Said woman turned around smirking too. "Quite possibly."

Loghain shook his head. "I'm not planning on becoming a true dragon warrior any time soon. Are we just going to stand here in the cold or go in?"

"So what's this Lady of the Skies brontoshit about preserving the blood that keeps 'em alive then?" Oghren asked as the strange key was used to open the door.

They all stepped inside the door closing with a bang as the wind pushed it shut behind them all. "The first Reaver." Kornelius sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "It has to be, the tale in Nevarra is that the first ever Reaver drank the blood of a High Dragon he slew and passed the power to maintain the lifeforce of the dragons for that crime to his children."

The temple was even larger on the inside if it were possible, stained glass windows and more of the Old Ferelden script on the walls and metal-work on pillars as they passed by them.

"And the Lady of the Skies has the power over life and death such as Kornelius does, Her magical gift. If one is needed to be alive for the world to continue without being destroyed then she can bring one back from even the realms of death. Even if it is simply that you will be the ancestor to one that will be that greatness." Finna closed her eyes and visibly shivered. "There is a lot in this world that is intertwined."

"Well ain't we just fucking lucky to have all of us here. A Nevarran with knowledge of dragons, an Avvar who knows about blood power and Gods despite hating blood magic and then the rest of us can be mere mortal observers as these two go all..."

"Paragon Sherlock." Oghren put in during her hesitation. "Ancestor with the biggest brain out there, figured out how a King was poisoned with ice cubes in his drink when nobody else died."

"Yeah, all Paragon Sherlock over this crap-fest we've stumbled into." Silmarwen finished.

"You should know what dangers there are in the world regarding magic and blood." Finna sniffled haughtily at the assumption of knowledge about blood magic.

"And not all blood mages are bad." The elf responded tartly. "I knew a very nice blood mage once. You've met him."

"And did I kill him?" Finna narrowed her eyes as she looked sideways at the mage. Loghain stood ready just in case, you could never tell when the Avvar would blow up in his opinion. You could guess but never know.

"You helped him escape to Tevinter if Morrigan, Alistair and Thorvald are to be believed. With my brother."

Finna hmm'ed at that. "He was hurt, I am doubting so much as of late over what I have always known."

Loghain shook his head. They'd be butting heads over that at some point, but not when Finna was pre-occupied over where they were and what they might have to do. "Hey Elfikins, you ain't said fucking in a while." Oghren elbowed her in the waist.

"Fucking." The elf said dryly.

It was almost sudden how they were surrounded in the temple, spears, vicious axes and arrows all pointed at them. How had none of them noticed at all? That was almost spooky.

"I felt your approach brothers. Good use of the portable warding spell." That was a bluff is he'd ever heard one. Loghain trained his face neutral. "We are here only to speak to the Thane Kolgrim Ap Thorarin."

"How do you know that name?" One, a mage spat, staff pointed directly at her chest.

"I am his daughter. I daresay he would be upset you hear of your harming of me." She said plainly.

The mage narrowed his eyes and lowered his staff. "If you truly are his daughter you would know the ritual for lighting the Holy Brazier."

Finna nodded and the mage bid them to follow, arrows, axes and spears were still trained on them, effectively stopping the Wardens from just breaking out the swords and magic to get out of this.

* * *

Dyrfinna kept pace behind the shaman. "You have his eyes you know. Almost uncanny if you lie to us." He said as they came upon a great, wide but shallow bowl made of solid gold, the tenets of the Ash Warriors scrawled in curlicue Old Ferelden around the rim and filled halfway with distinctly spiced oil. The oil that anointed a promise made to a clan, that was rubbed into the tattoo banding when the markings of adulthood were given.

"Pass me the taper and the black pearl then?" She asked as he motioned for her to stand before it.

The shaman grumbled and reached inside his deep pocket, drawing a long taper and a small black pearl from within a silken pouch to hand them to her. Dyrfinna held the pearl within her fingers. "What's this about?" Loghain asked gruffly.

"As my father would tell the tale, he believed in a Holy Brazier linked to the dreamworld that holds the souls of the first followers of Andraste An Brona. They each lit the taper and the oil within once a day for two weeks, fasting for their sins forgiven. As in Tevinter they believed that black pearls could hold one away from death when held in the mouth during that person's death. They would light the Brazier and place a black pearl in their mouth before stabbing themselves in the heart. Thus they would not die from a mortal wound and live from their own stabbing."

The look on Loghain's face said 'don't you dare' if she knew anything. She very subtly tapped the side of her nose as she put the flawless black pearl in her mouth, it slotted exactly where her missing tooth was, jamming into the gap perfectly. She pulled a flint from her pocket and struck it against the rasped edge of the golden Brazier for it to spark the taper into catching aflame.

Dyrfinna dropped the taper to the oil and it ignited briefly with a blue flame before petering out. "Sufficient to prove I am who I am?"

She only just noticed that the men and women with crazed eyes and vicious weapons that had surrounded them previously had all dropped knee, muttering not in Old Ferelden or Tevene if the furrow between Silmarwen's brows was any guess. The child of Shartan was easy to read - when she understood or knew something the edge of her mouth would curl ever so slightly.

It was the shaman that spoke though in Common. "I shall take you with us. Our Father will wish to see his true heir."

The fervency in his voice chilled her to the bone. 'Our Father'? What in Sigfrost's name could that even mean? Had her father become even more crazed in his time away from the clan? "Are you my brother by blood?" She asked offhandedly.

"No, but I would hope for the privilege." The shaman responded. It chilled her more.

* * *

They were lead further and further into the twisting back passages of the temple until it became not stonework but caverns they were walking. "Oh, can you feel that? I know exactly where we are now." Oghren murmured, the fabled dwarven stone sense no doubt. If not for the berserker in the deep roads they may have been going in circles for a very long time.

If she thought about it, there had to be something about the stone sense. She may ask the dwarf one day. But not now when she had more important things to deal with.

"You must feel honoured, being of Our Father in his blood." The shaman spoke to Dyrfinna as they passed restrained drakes and dragonlings - no doubt if they had taken a bloody route through this place they would have been set upon by the creatures.

They might still be set upon by the dragonlings and drakes should the worst happen. But it was an idea to know what and who they would be pitted against to proper plan their way back down should they need to. Dyrfinna was used to calculating their odds of survival now, the times in the deep roads, the tower of Kinloch Hold and even every attack be it darkspawn or assassin since she had become the Commander.

She saw the same look in Loghain's eyes, that calculation and formulation of plans of attack should it come to it. Dyrfinna couldn't imagine ever pitting against him in a no-holds-barred fight as she knew one of them would never walk out. If the world had worked that way. Likely she would not walk out.

"I am unsure." She responded lightly to the shaman. "It would depend on what my father has become if I am truly honoured to share his blood."

"You will be honoured then." He said with that same awful fervency.

Her first sights of her father since she was eight winters was of him atop a rocky outcropping, a crowd of followers for lack of a better word with adoration clear in their eyes in wooden pews.

"Thane Kolgrim Ap Thorarin?" Dyrfinna called out, not letting her voice waver from the inner turmoil she felt. "I am Dyrfinna An Nikolina O Aunoar."

His eyes turned to the group arriving and he stopped what he was saying, putting his tome he had held on a wooden altar and moving toward them. His eyes were the same as hers. The colour of pale honey, set in skin darker a few shades and reddy-brown hair with beard. What shocked her was the lack of his Hakkon banding. The shaman could undo a mistake int the tattoo with their magic but he should have matched her - a burgundy band that crossed his face from temple to temple, over the bridge of his nose and as wide as eyebrow to cheekbone. After all, what was a tattoo but a scar with ink embedded?

He wore heavy chainmail, an ornate cloak draping from his shoulders and the legendary axe of no equal hooked to his hip that reached his feet, swaying as he walked. It would be unfair to exile a fellow clansman without a weapon and you could choose which you took.

Dyrfinna gulped, transfixed like prey faced with a predator that they knew they couldn't face head on. "My daughter? You come to me now?" His voice was unchanged from her memories. Deep and powerful but now with an unholy quality with what she thought now.

"Yes father. It is I." She looked down, unable to even glance proper at the man that had sired her. The daughter of two Thanes could barely look at her father.

"True followers of Andraste! Our saviour has come at last!" She looked up at his words and he had turned his back, walking through the seated followers. Each of them was now looking at her.

"Father, it is talk like this that had you exiled from the clan. What happened to you?" She ground out the words, still shamed by the fact it was her father and not some unknown crazy man she was speaking to. Korth's throne why couldn't it be easier for her?

He turned back around, fires almost blazing in his eyes. "What I needed Dyrfinna, what I needed. They are heathens but I saw the light, I know the true religion now. Andraste Herself has risen from Her barbaric death the Tevinters foisted on Her, She is more glorious now than ever before!"

His fervency scared her, just as it had when she was a child. His calling of their people as heathens horrid. But he was her father, and she needed to know what they'd done here. She would have to at least listen to what he said. "Andraste An Brona was a mortal woman father, no mortal lest under the guidance of the Lady of the Skies can be reincarnate and not after so long. What has happened, what have you done?"

Her father didn't seem to be affected by her words. He neared Dyrfinna. "She returned to us daughter. And all those years ago I was wrong, my daughter of the mountain was not sired of Korth and Freyja... she is the true champion of Andraste."

"No!"

"But I have waited years for you to see the truth! I know you come here for this very reason!" He ranted, spittle collecting in the corners of his mouth and he cupped her jaw in his callused palm. "My own daughter would have no other reason to seek me out."

She closed her eyes, feeling the wet sheen slipping ever so slightly but she was not crying. No. She would not cry. "Yes father, I sought you out. But I must ask you a question."

"Anything for the champion of Andraste." He cooed, lovingly and stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"We had word you unbound Korth, and bound Him to a dragon like the Tevinters." She sighed, not wanting his hand on her cheek.

"Necessary young one. Korth was unbound by us using the techniques Andraste used Herself, we needed a subject to test upon and perfected it. The dragons will never die out now, we will live once all is done correctly." He brushed a hand through her hair, ruffling it and she backed off, straightening out her three braids with Thorarin's beads upon them and scowling. Her son had picked up that habit from her no doubt.

"What other Gods did you fucking well do it to?" Ten silvers to whomever guessed who did that outburst. She turned her head to the child of Shartan who was very angry to say the least.

Her father rounded over to her. "Whichever needed to be in their true forms petulant elf!" He raged.

"Both of you calm." Dyrfinna put her hand out, a firm commanding tone settling in her voice. Her father turned, eyes joyful.

"Just like both your mother and I. The ease Andraste's true champion commands." He smiled.

She shivered at being compared to him. "Father, why am I the true champion of Andraste An Brona? What would lead you to believe that?"

"Your birth of course. The fire in your eyes, the way you hold yourself Dyrfinna. You are my daughter and what other reason would Freyja have for saving your mother and I against the painted lowlanders but to have Andraste's champion be born?"

"And what would being this champion be?" She asked, calming the discomfit she felt over the true name of the Lady of the Skies being spoken.

"But to fully bind Andraste to her true form of course." He smiled affectionately. "Josteinn? Did she light the Holy Brazier as is correct?"

The shaman that had lead them here stepped forward. "She did. The way to the Gauntlet will hold no danger she could not live through."

Dyrfinna idly felt the black pearl jammed in the gap in her teeth. That could not be true could it? It was a secret the shaman held about the Tevinter but it was one of the forbidden things to fight a natural death if not gifted a such by the Lady of the Skies by Her or by Her magical gift. And it was only a story he'd repeated to her night after night to help her sleep as a child for Sigfrost's sakes!

"How could I bind a mortal woman to any form?" She demanded, keeping her voice low rather than raising it.

"By going to Her Ashes, the trails of the Gods stands in your way daughter." Her father smiled, his chest puffed out. "I have a vial of blood from the risen Andraste that once added to her previous remains will fully bind Her!"

"I know I'm just a boulder pusher but you mean a dragon right?" Oghren interrupted. All eyes turned to him. "Boss, you ain't letting this happen, that dragon is gonna taste Oghren axe!"

"You would hurt the risen Andraste!" Her father took in a deep shuddering breath. "You travel in disrespectful company daughter." He looked over the group of her Wardens properly and smiled. "But the dragon warrior, I suppose your choices are not too bad considering I was not there to guide you."

Loghain glowered toward her father. "I would have to just put the blood to these ashes?" Dyrfinna broke the glowering passing between the two men up.

"You can't do that!" Carver gasped. "Look, I'm no mage and no devout Andrastian for sure but that doesn't sound good at all."

Dyrfinna sighed. "Give me the vial father and point the way to where the ashes are kept." She held her hand out and her father placed a small vial of blood in it.

"Take your companions and do this, you make the right decision daughter." He grinned, he patted her hand as it closed around the strangely warm vial.

"I know." She sniffed.

"The ashes are behind a Gauntlet and a Guardian spirit that will decide if you are worthy. I know you are, do this and the rewards will be great."

* * *

Bethany felt woozy, the lyrium sloshing unnaturally in her stomach and she put up another barrier of ice to keep the darkspawn from them. Alistair was flagging and bleeding from a jagged gash on his sword arm in his chain.

She delved into her mana, healing up the gash quickly as the ice was melting. A genlock crashed through it near her and she stuck her staff out like a polearm, skewering it in the neck before jerking her staff out quickly and sending a fireball at the hurlocks behind.

The two Wardens carried on in their pattern, the ice erected around them to breathe a while and heal, take quick lyrium and elfroot potions. The griffons fought fiercely too, picking up the darkspawn in their talons and ripping them in twain before dropping them.

It was soon apparent the threat was over for the moment. "There... Maker's breath... there has to be an opening into the deep roads close by." Alistair huffed.

"We deal with that when Mari returns, she can..." Bethany held onto her staff staked in the ground, holding onto it for stability. "She can reform the rock with her primal spells and close it up."

"Right." Alistair sucked in a deep breath. "Let's see what's happened to any villagers then, and if they're alright. If there's any tainted we have the ingredients for a few Joinings right?"

"Should do." Bethany pulled her staff out the ground with a deep breath and put it back in her sling on her back. "Let's knock on a few doors then."

They walked around the darkspawn corpses, the griffons had settled on landing on the roofs, preening and flicking globs of tainted flesh out of their talons.

"Does that statue look familiar?" Alistair pointed to what looked like a stone golem in the square, lined with crystal growths and lines of visible lyrium, reaching out to the sky like in pain.

"Looks like a golem if I didn't know any better. We should ask any villagers we find." Bethany shrugged, although she'd travelled alongside the golems they'd taken back to Orzammar the idea of their creation chilled her. Would a person die once their golem form were inactive or simply be standing there and watching in silence? It worried the mage to think about the madness that could set in a mind.

She reached for a vial of lyrium and took two quick gulps to replenish her pool of mana, stopping it back up and slipping the vial back in her belt pouch. She could still feel darkspawn - it could be the nearby entrance to the deep roads or it could be the dead darkspawn about them. Either way, Bethany wouldn't be caught unaware.

Alistair knocked on a door and the two waited a while but no sounds of life came. "That's odd. I feel some life presences around." Bethany furrowed her brow and stretched out the band of her awareness that was within a Spirit Healer's grasp, searching for the heartbeats she knew did not belong to the griffons or either of them.

But nothing. She felt it! Where had she felt it? Alistair was waiting patiently for her to say something, an eyebrow raised in question.

Then the healer felt something at least. Magic. With determined strides she walked over to the miller cottage with water wheel frozen in place and stared at the plaque over the door. "Wilhelm's cottage. Apothecary and small crafts." She read the words but it was the symbol just beneath that made her grin. "He's an apostate."

"And how would you know that?" Alistair asked quizzically. Bethany sighed and tapped the plaque with the top of her staff.

"The crescent moon symbol. My father used it too, he's a healer at least. I wonder what an apostate's doing in a village and set up like this?" Bethany wondered the last bit aloud and knocked the obligatory three staggered times on the door to say she wasn't a danger before opening the unlocked door.


	37. Dragon Blood is Disgusting

Author note: I'm incredibly proud of the last chapter, just... super proud of how it turned out. Kolgrim was bloody mental, but doesn't it all make much more sense with an Avvar and a Nevarran explaining a lot of it? It's a halfway cult between Ancient Tevinters, Andrastian religion and the Avvar Parthenon. But it makes too much sense because people aren't just crazy, they're genius crazy. There has to be a reason for crazy! (my logic just can't let it be you know)

And now... the Guardian and the Gauntlet. Me Style! (in other words, AU - you already guessed that though)

Big thank yous to every reviewer, favouriter, follower and even you lurkers who haven't done any of those. I hope you enjoy this loooong chapter.

Damned keyboard! My laptop broke in a spectacular fashion so this chapter is later than usual - because I've had my father fix it for me! Yay!

Oh - and well done to FenZev for winning 200th review and the amazing prompt. Next one is 300 reviewers! We'll get there won't we? Please? I love gifting these stories for my lovely readers!

This chapter is M for patricide. No more spoilers although who else in the Thedas universe would be upset to kill Kolgrim?

* * *

Dyrfinna stepped out of the mountain caverns, flanked by her father and her Wardens following after them.

"You do not know how long I have waited for you daughter. The hours seem to mean nothing, knowing now that we are upon the cusp of completing what we have long awaited." It had been so long since she had seen him, as if the only ways she could have remembered the man were of his songs, his stories he told her as a child. Then the look of pain that crossed his face when their previous Thane, Thane Anwend, had put him in exile - that image burned in her mind until it was so much easier to say he had died of an illness.

"It has been a long time since I saw you father." She agreed with him, the chilly air this far up the mountain free of snow falling but bitterly frozen, her breath coming out in clouds of dense white.

"And lo! Look! Andraste Herself comes to see Her true champion in the flesh before the ritual can be complete!" He pointed up, as if such a thing were needed as the High Dragon, scales a dark red, the colour of clotted blood and stuck with icy crystals over each scale to create a devastating beauty swooped over them.

The wings blew softer flurries of the snow up into the air, sticking around the warriors and shaman on the worn stone and snow path, a remnant of what great Hold the ancient Avvar had created here.

"Korth's throne." Dyrfinna breathed, the sheer sight of the magical creature so large maddening.

It had to be as tall as a two storey house from Denerim, if not taller and longer besides that. How anyone managed to slay a creature would be a feat. The Archdemon would be bigger!

"She is magnificent." Her father smiled widely, indulgently. "And tame to those who favour Her. She knows."

Loghain reeled her back by the upper arm and whispered as lowly as he could in her ear. "Silmarwen has informed me that there's blood magic at work here, Kornelius stated dragons won't shit in the hand that feeds them."

Dyrfinna nodded, it was as she had guessed. "Now ain't that dragon just begging for Oghren axe!" The ginger dwarf cheered.

"Will you silence your dwarf now daughter or I will be forced to part his head from his shoulders!" Her father turned, hot breath creating plumes in the air in his anger.

"Oghren, please." She put it firmly, a hand out to him. "The time for comments like that is not now."

"You never let Oghren have any fun!" He kicked a clump of snow up at that. "You owe me a dragon now."

"You can have the next dragon we encounter." She said off-handedly, looking at the great beast that now perched atop an icy cliff, watching them if that was any guess, breath a huge cloud and spiked tail curled up to it's forelimbs, sharp talons crumbling small chunks down the cliff.

She shivered at the thought of those claws anywhere near her or her Wardens. It was bad enough they'd be on griffons for the Archdemon until they'd grounded the Old God. Dragon slaying was serious business.

Her eyes felt hot and wet against the biting winds that they were walking through. Korth's throne, what was she honesty doing? "Father?"

He hmm'ed to that as they needed to wooden door bound by ice and snow. "Yes my child?"

"What reasoning have you to think I am the 'true champion of Andraste'?" She looked sideways at him and the grin on his lips was shocking.

"Many reasons, I awaited your arrival for many years, some thought it a self-righteous view in thinking the seed of my own loins was the champion - but I knew. You recall the tale of the painted lowlanders your mother and I fought?" His tone has become gentler for that last bit, as if wading through the fogs in his mind over it himself.

"I do, how could any forget the nights of mourning held each year for our dead, the wreaths of witch hazel?" Dyrfinna responded tersely.

"And the dragon that flew o'er our mountain, heralding the very dragon warrior that stands by you now." His voice was melodic, enraptured by his own thoughts and words.

Dyrfinna glanced back at Loghain's stormy expression. "I recall."

"I sought it out. I had to know daughter." He turned to her, gripping her by chainmail covered biceps tightly. "The dragon was tamed and yet I slew the magnificent beast - it had no right to be as such!"

He honestly scared her, no training could stop the widening of her eyes or the way her mouth was agape. "Father?"

"I had to make amends, I could see then in that infinitesimal moment the aeons, tasted the blood of the dragons on my lips. I offered you. My first born would see the light where I had failed!" She gulped, processing his words. He... offered her?

"Me? You... offered me?" She was struck almost dumb by his words, spluttering the words from her lips like a poison.

"Yes. I sought this Hold, the site of our greatest betrayal, our darker, true, base side and saw the way the people wished to make amends as I did. We started our holy mission when Andraste came to us, risen in her new glorious form. And I saw it. I had to offer a part of myself that was not of my body."

She clocked him on the jaw before she even realised what she'd done. She stood there, unbelieving at the sharp pain in her knuckles and the honest hurt in his eyes that matched hers, clutching his chin, blood dripping through his own gauntlet.

The sounds of screaming behind her made Dyrfinna look to see her two shaman Wardens on the floor, thrashing in the snow, Carver and Loghain grunting as they seemed almost paralysed against the spells thrown at them. Oghren battling against three of the cultists and the shaman on his own.

She felt the hit in her shoulder then, the metallic cracking of her shoulder guard. The adrenaline flowed quickly, blocking the pain as whoever had taken a weapon to her shoulder wrenched it back out, just the alien of her blood running hot, seeping into her underpadding and gushing a pulse into her chain and plate.

There wasn't time to act rationally at that point as she lunged toward her father, knocking him down to the floor. They tumbled in the snow and she held onto him with one hand, the other grasped around the long, lattice patterned haft of his legendary axe, red with her own blood. "You were supposed to cleanse my soul! You were supposed to give Andraste Her true powers once more!" He ranted, uncaring of the snow that stuck in bloody coloured clumps to them as they tumbled.

Dyrfinna bit her lip, thinking on how to stop their falling before they hit something hard and stony or fell off the ruinous bridge into the vast fall down the mountain, rage and adrenaline ebbing and flowing with the pulse of her blood out of her shoulder. The moment was almost serene, just her own heartbeat thundering in her ears as she watched as if from a point further back at the rage over his face, pale honey eyes full of vitriol and mouth twisted into a snarl.

She could vaguely feel her own weapons hitting her through her scabbards and sheaths, her belt with dagger and sword falling off and going with her shield to skitter off over the edge and fall down the chasm, down the mountain - irretrievable.

The axe grazed her cheek and she felt the bloom of pain and the drip of her blood off her face when they hit the pillar, she straddled over him, the axe squarely in her hands. "Lady of the Skies give you mercy father, for I will show you none!" She ground out, throwing every iota of her weight down through the axe.

The fear was in his eyes then, that fraction of a second before the metal bit into his face, cracking the bones of his nose, cleaving into his skull.

The blood ran thick and dark from the wound, her father instantly dead, eyes open on either side of the axe embedded in his face, all the rage gone and the most calm expression possible settled on his cooling, snow and blood fleck features.

Dyrfinna crumpled and wrenched the axe out, keeping her grip on the haft as she held onto the corpse beneath her. "Papa!" Then it became a blur.

A horrid blur of noises and thumping feet, of clanking metal and being pulled forcefully from the maimed corpse.

* * *

"Let me send him off properly!" Finna was screaming as Loghain wrenched her away from the mad Kolgrim. No father left their child, no parent could bear the pain of being so long from their child. Yet he'd left the amazing woman he was having to restrain, her tears tracking trails down the snow bitten and blood streaked face. "Let me see my father to the Lady of the Skies!"

She elbowed him in the stomach and kicked out at Carver, getting him on the face as he tried to restrain her too. They managed to get Finna pinned to the floor and Oghren sat on her chest to stop her writhing. "You need healing dammit Dyr!" Carver shouted at her.

She wasn't listening, still trashing out, almost red in the face where her own blood wasn't pumping out. "Commander, the dragon in circling, I need to stop the bleeding and we need to get inside that temple now!" Kornelius kept on looking up at the false 'Andraste' High Dragon that was in the white sky.

"Fucking Void Commander! Snap out of it and go crazy when we're safe!" Silmarwen shouted, the lightning crackling between her hands. "Move back, I'll shock her and someone has to drag the Commander on the count of three!"

The elf shouted the countdown. One. Two. Three. The lightning jolted through her and the three warriors acted quickly with the shocked Avvar, dragging her, blood still gushing a line as they dragged her. Silmarwen and Kornelius raced ahead and opened the door to the temple that supposedly held the ashes of Andraste.

The wind picked up as the door slammed shut and Loghain saw the High Dragon take the downed cultists between long talons and teeth. Hungry then.

It had left Kolgrim near the entrance and as soon as the shock wore off Finna was fighting back again, this time with that bloody axe in her hands. He didn't know she could use a greataxe...

Oghren was the one who managed to knock it out of her hands and she crumpled to her knees. "Kill me! I am a barbarian!"

The dwarf backed off and dropped his axe with a clatter to the floor. "Ancestor's tits Dyrfinna, I ain't killing yer!"

"You should! I have committed the worst of betrayals!" She shouted, hoarse through her tears. Loghain approached her slowly and knelt down next to her.

"It's alright." He murmured, pulling the woman into his chestplate. She tried to squirm away but he held her tight. Kornelius started his healing.

"I am a monster. I killed him." She babbled. "I am no better than any barbarian. His blood is on my hands."

Loghain grimaced, he'd been a bit too preoccupied with the blood mage and the cultists following them to see when the father and daughter started careening down the snowy bridge. "He wasn't your father any more Finna." He rumbled, cupping the back of her head in his gauntlet.

"Well that ballsed up a perfectly good meetin' of kooky Avvar and crazy nut father." Oghren commented. The dwarf grunted when Carver thwacked him one on the head.

"Shut up you." Carver snapped.

"Commander, Constable... there's the ghost of a man watching us." Silmarwen sniffed. The two warriors looked up to see a man, a bloody Avvar judging by the stripe tattoo down his face, eyes a pale green and would you believe it - a Grey Warden Commander helmet on! Seemed the Avvars and the Grey Wardens went far back.

Loghain tried to remember what Finna had told him up that tree near Lothering about their own beliefs on darkspawn and it made sense that around the time of Andraste that a lot of Avvars would become Grey Wardens with how they're supposed to be fighting darkspawn as much as the Legion of the Dead in some respects.

Finna folded out of his arms, almost trance-like in the way she picked up the axe by their feet and dragged it. "You would be?" She asked, hesitant and her voice raw.

The ghost looked at her and smiled of all things. "The Guardian to the Ashes of Andraste An Brona. So long have I stood guard before the Gauntlet of the Gods to judge the worthiness of those who seek them, keeping any with Tevinter ideals from using their power."

"You know the Imperium isn't as powerful as it was before, they're constantly at war with the Qunari as far as I'm aware and stepping the line of having an Exalted March brought down on them by the Chantry." Kornelius muttered.

"This place stinks of lyrium." Oghren grumbled. "Dead talking and whatnot."

The Guardian looked at them all with those pale green, clouded eyes and nodded. "The path that brought you here was sincere and fraught with perils and hard decisions aplenty. I will allow you to pass to seek Andraste's ashes if you can answer truthfully one question each."

"The Trial of Sigfrost." Finna nodded, tears drying in the face of having to carry on - that was the woman he was so enraptured with. "Ask away."

"The Trial of Uvolla." The Guardian looked at them each in turn, probing if Loghain was any judge. He cleared his non-existent throat. "I will start with Silmarwen Surana."

"Fucking ask already then." The elf bristled. How in the Maker's name did the Guardian know her name? Did he know all of their names?

"You hide behind a false bravado of vulgarity and knowledge - don't allow yourself to close to people in your eternal crusade to prove yourself. Does this life make you happy?" Silmarwen blinked, mouth agape and ears lowered in anger.

"Do you think being an elf and a mage to boot gains me any favours? If I prove I'm just as fucking useful as any grunting human warrior or even a tinker, tailor or fucking candlestick maker it'd be an improvement for a lot of people. So yes, it makes me happy when someone looks at me not like an elven mage but a bloody team member and just says thank you for zapping away the darkspawn from their narrow minded world. Not that the fact I have to prove myself is very nice. So very happy, move onto the next poor sap." She seethed her breaths through her teeth and there were a lot of raised eyebrows.

"I don't see you as an elven mage." Carver gulped. "You're Silmarwen."

"Well thank you for that, I'm now a dwarven archer." She spat, still angry.

"Kornelius Blackwood." The Guardian announced, turning his head toward the brown-haired Nevarran. "You lived in a prison, fearing your life every moment of the day for over two years - tell me, did you seek revenge against the men you believe allowed your imprisonment?"

The Nevarran mage sniffed, the end of his straight nose red from the cold. "Truthfully, I would have had words in the least about why Duncan and Lucien didn't even try looking for me as soon as they realised why my body hadn't been found with the others. Knowing my skills they should have figured I was in a circle or Aeonar, they were clever men. So by all means I was going to clock them both one and maybe set all their spare smallclothes on fire to see how they liked wearing the same ones for days and weeks on end before you could nick a pair from the laundry. But revenge further than that? Why bother? It happened and I'm not a naturally vengeful man or I'd have killed my wife when she disowned our daughter for being of mage blood."

The Guardian nodded. "And Dyrfinna O Auonar." Loghain tensed, wondering what the Guardian would say because Finna wasn't in the most stable of states as it was.

"I killed my father, I left my son and clan, I allowed the evil of the Anvil of the Void and all to protect the people of Ferelden from the dangers that some could never hope to fight against. I will likely do worse in time but I will have no regrets if I serve as protector, it is my job now." She held her head high but Loghain could see the fire in those honey eyes.

"Not that." The Guardian paused. "You seek to right wrongs in the world that you could never change, you could never have time nor power enough to change the world nor the minds of those in it. You know that and yet you still try. Do you feel disheartened by that?"

Finna furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. "In some ways. But giving up is worse than not trying, only by trying is there any hope of success. I do not try, I do and then if it does not work I do a different way."

"Carver Hawke." The Guardian turned to the young warrior with an eyebrow arched. "You envied so many for what you deemed them the have a 'normal life' - would you have changed your past knowing what you know now?"

Carver looked down and tilted his head before looking straight at the Guardian. "Honestly? No. My life happened the way it happened. If it'd been different who could say I'd be who I am now?"

"No truer words were spoken." The Guardian smiled. "Oghren Kondrat."

"Don't bother. I let my wife run off into the deep roads when I should'a just knocked 'er up an' given 'er somethin to stay fer. I shouldn't drink so sodding much or I'll end up like my father, I joined the Wardens fer a sodding bet I never even got the coin for and I'm a lousy dwarf in general. That 'bout sums it up so end of."

The Guardian pursed his non-lips and nodded tersely. "Loghain Mac Tir."

He knew it was coming, he just wasn't sure what sort of regret or inner thing he was supposed to get from it. But Loghain waited for what the Guardian would say, not willing to say anything before the Guardian did. "All the people you truly cared about you left or they left you. If you had a choice which one would you have saved even if it was not possible?"

Loghain stilled completely, almost as if the Guardian's vision were based on movement. What in the Void did he mean?

"Loghain?" He vaguely heard Finna's voice but paid no attention, deep in thought. Left or they left... who would have saved? He furrowed his brow trying to think who fit that bill. The names cropped up too much for his liking. His father was the first, Rowan, Maric, Celia. They all fit that too well. He'd given up his love of Rowan for the good of Ferelden, knew that the country needed the betrothal between she and Maric to unite under. Maric had left on that damned voyage over the seas. Celia he'd all but abandoned in Gwaren until she was desperate for love, the unconditional love Anora had been able to give being the only one she'd found until she'd just wanted one more child. He'd given into her because of his guilt in leaving her despite the difficulties she'd had with Anora's birth. She'd died in childbirth.

"I couldn't chose one." He responded after a while. And he was suddenly filled with a steely determination not to let the people he knew now down. He wouldn't let Maric's bastard down, nor Finna, he wouldn't let Anora find him an absent father as much as it was humanly possible. That steely determination not to let anyone who even relied on him down.

"Then you may enter the Gauntlet. Know this, those that pass through the Gauntlet successfully are never truly the same again, it will mark your soul." The Guardian then stood to the side and the door behind him flew open with a rusty creak of the hinges.

"Trial of Uvolla eh?" Oghren grunted.

"Goddess of love and empathy." Finna breathed. "We will likely face Korth, Sigfrost, Imhar, Hakkon and The Lady of the Skies also. Whether more Guardians will explain or it is written will be more of a test."

"Oh goodie, and here I thought this Andraste shit would be all about the Maker." The dwarf grunted.

Finna laughed. Loghain smiled himself at the sound of it. "As if. Andraste would have followed the Avvar Parthenon and any clan she belonged to after her. I have no idea where this Maker comes from. It could be a mere attachment to a proud shaman leader of our war but I have no clue. The Avvar never saw her as more than that." She sighed. "I... I must still see my father off properly. I understand why what needed to be done has been done but let me see him off."

"Dragon's still out there Dyrfinna." Oghren grinned. "Can I please show her my axe?"

"If she attacks." Finna sighed.

"He weren't yer father no more girlie, just some nutter." Oghren grinned toothily. "Nice new axe by the way, goes well with yer new berserker attitude."

"You mean Dyr's a berserker now and I'm not?" Carver grumbled. "What makes her graduate to your esteemed ranks?"

"Whelp Hawkling, I'd say partly what Elfikins told me from that Alienage and how she dint even feel a sodding dagger to the guts and partly that near cheek cleaving cut just now and how she still beat the side a your grumpy face."

Carver absent-mindedly rubbed the side of his face where boot had connected. "Alright. I'll stick to Ash Warrior. Hey, do you think Alistair would teach me some of the templar techniques? I'm not letting another blood mage stick their dirty fingers in my head again, templar abilities would work there right?"

"Ask Alistair." Kornelius shrugged. "I suppose he'll need some help rounding up the darkspawn mages."

Finna put her hand up and pointed directly ahead at them, carved in Old Ferelden on the wall. "The Trial of Hakkon. God of temperance and winter. Hakkon is the husband of Uvolla and so will likely test our emotional temperance, we are to brace ourselves." Loghain nodded.

He could do temperance. The figure that came through the darkness ahead them suddenly made him rethink that though. _Maric._

"Hello Loghain. Maker you're looking grumpier than usual." He grinned in his boyish way, almost unchanged from what he remembered.

_Maric is dead. That witch said he wouldn't live to see a Blight and compelling evidence means I've had to believe Maric was dead. This wasn't Maric but by the Maker did it look more than a ghost. _

"Well do I look real enough." Maric pouted. "Ah, you got me you miserable old goat."

_You hear my thoughts?_ Loghain looked over at the others, all transfixed on where Maric was, all looking as shocked as another. _So, they see someone they know too? _

"Well of course, I doubt that your little dwarven friend here would care to see me. And an Avvar? I haven't seen an Avvar in ages! Oo! I wonder if I can talk to her too?" Maric squeezed his eyes shut and looked constipated. Loghain struggled to recall when Maric might have encountered the Avvars. Might have even been on that damned mission the Grey Wardens almost kidnapped him for - that might have been it. For the most part Loghain had blanked most of the 'heroism' talk at the time. "Ah, I tried. Still as stony and silent as I remember I see."

_What are you supposed to do?_ Loghain thought sceptically, not seeing more test than simply the immediate shock of his dead friend sauntering in as bloody cheerful as the day he left.

"Is there anything you've ever wanted to say to me? Anything at all? Look deep inside that stony heart and see if there's a little thing in there that says 'Say me! Say me!'... anything at all." He have him a thumbs up with both hands and Loghain rolled his eyes. If this was such a test why did it annoy him more than anything? Maric always had that ability to attach himself, annoy the Void out of someone then make them miss the bugger.

_I'm sorry about Cailan. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything._ The thought came out of nowhere and Loghain shocked himself there.

"That's not it. Think again old man." Maric jabbed. Loghain scowled.

_What? You want me to realise some great truth that makes me a stronger person? You've got it you bloody poltergeist. I'm not a hero, I can't make everything go perfectly. Damn it I keep seeing everything go arse over elbow and we'll have an Archdemon destroy what we saved. _

"But..." Maric prompted.

_But what? _

"But you'll what?"

_But I'll not just give up, sit in a corner and wish it away. Never works and I'll not test that either. _

"Well done. Take this shiny thing to remember that!" Maric grinned so wide it could be possible to tear skin if it were a real person. Loghain felt something solid in his clenched gauntlet and brought it up to see a mirror of sorts in his hand, on a sturdy but fine silver chain. "You wear it. Should make you more resilient or whatever. Like the great Loghain ever needed more resilience!"

Loghain looked back up but Maric was gone. He looked over at the others, each with a mirror necklace like his own in hand. "Ancestors tits that was weird. You sparklefingers understand what the sod that meant?"

"Some fucked up shit about self-reflection if the mirrors any bet. So who'd everyone else see?" Silmarwen unclasped the necklace and put it around her neck. "Lovely shiny necklace though."

"I think we should go to the next test." Finna bristled, placing her mirror necklace into her pocket and walking through them into the dark. Kornelius put a flame in his hands and started to follow after.

"Damned geister, ich bin krank von dies bereits. Genetivi schuldet uns." The Nevarran muttered in his native language as he followed. The others all took off at the same brisk place.

* * *

Dyrfinna could feel the change that made her a berserker and the face of her mother smiling at the woman she'd raised. Told her that she'd done the right thing with her actions. It reaffirmed her. The Guardian had cut her name short, it had been the moment she realised she wasn't an Avvar any longer. She'd become a lowlander.

It hadn't hurt her as much as she'd thought it would. Dyrfinna O Auonar. She'd lost the right to be called an Avvar but those ideals instilled since birth would still drive her. The name meant nothing compared to where she'd come from. She saw that now.

She felt the Warden presences following when she saw the separate tunnels ahead. There was a plaque above and she squinted at it in the flickering light of Kornelius' flame until the others came about her. "The Trial of Korth. The Mountain-Father and God of strength, it says we must use what we know, separate and come out alive on the other side. It must be done on our own."

"So we got some beasties through there to kill. See ya in a tick then!" Oghren lifted his axe into the air and disappeared into the first tunnel at a run. She shook her head.

The others all stood before a tunnel of their own and they all started walking into the unknown.

Dyrfinna kept her father's axe out, without her usual weapons but it felt right to hold, like how it was supposed to have been. The tunnel twisted and widened into a sandy arena bathed in the flame of a flickering torch on a tall stand. She held the axe out ready and her opponent stepped into the other side. Her eyes widened at the smirking face that was her own, in her leathers she'd left her clan in, sword and shield already out for the fight.

"Ready?" The other her grinned.

"Bring it." She ground out. Her Warden self was faster, stronger than her previous self, but her previous self was quicker without being encumbered by chain and plate. Her axe swung in the air as Dyrfinna Two ducked and Two's shield hit her in the stomach and she was pushed back in the sand but didn't fall, her feet firmly planted in it.

She twisted, moving the axe in a wide arc and bringing the heavy greataxe up at the side of Two. The leathers gave way under the sharp axehead and heavy blow, the tang of blood filled the air. It was a powerful feeling, like a surge of battle prowess that filled the new berserker. She grunted and moved the axe as if cutting a tree, hitting harder into the side of Two.

Two's sword was thrust out and skittered on the angled armour of her shoulder and she lifted the axe. Two groaned and looked up from staggered position. "End me, Korth gave us strength." She grinned.

Dyrfinna nodded and brought the axe down and cleaved Two's head off. Two dissipated into white smoke and she was left alone in the flickering orange light. Imhar's laughter, talk about facing yourself!

She hooked the axe by the loop at the base around her left wrist and held the haft in her right before walking. There was something about holding the axe that felt more right than any other weapon before. She glanced at the lattice metal over the haft and grinned in a macabre way, Faith's Edge it read. Faith in what was the question that hung in the air.

She'd have to spar more often with Oghren and Carver to have more than the basic understanding on how to wield it though.

* * *

Dyrfinna emerged on the other side to see Kornelius groaning, Silmarwen swearing as the healer did his job, Oghren laughing, Carver limping but no Loghain. No... no!

She looked at the other side of the tunnel and forced herself to stay put. The Trial of Korth was something that must be done on one's own. There was a roar within the tunnel and she really had to brace herself on the stone quoins to not run in there. Loghain was a powerful warrior, he was more than capable of this.

She felt the Warden presence tingle in the base of her spine then flood into her veins. He did it! She could have leapt with joy if not for the fact her armour was a bit to heavy for needless movement and the fact she really shouldn't have been shocked. "Damn it, never thought I'd ever fight myself!" Was his way of announcing his presence.

"So, how did it go?" Carver asked before Kornelius backhanded the warrior on the back of the head. "Ouch, with your ring hand!"

"How did it go?" The Nevarran shaman tutted.

"I meant what sort of self did he face? I had me in training leathers with a bastard sword, it was stupidly easy, I guess I've learned a lot in the Wardens but I couldn't have been older than when I joined the army!" Carver scowled. "How did you two get by then?" He gestured vaguely at the two shaman.

"Lightning hurts." Silmarwen groaned. "Like really, really hurts. I'm sorry Commander for shocking you earlier."

"Forgiven." Dyrfinna shrugged.

"I was neither a Mortalitasi or healer in the secondary form. The other me kept on fighting with fire so I blocked him with ice. I was shocked blue!" Kornelius snorted.

"Let's keep moving then. Daylight burning and whatnot." Loghain shook his head and strode forward. Dyrfinna took pace with him.

* * *

Silmarwen grinned when the Commander read the next Trial. Trial of Sigfrost - God of knowledge! She laced and flexed her fingers, let the sewer of knowledge deal with this!

They stepped into a room with skylights, stained glass windows in the ceiling and she felt the weird buzz of magic and lyrium stronger here. Oghren noticed it too. Everyone else seemed clueless except Kornelius who shivered.

Eight white lights in the shapes of people lined the way up to a set of ornate doors and the Commander gasped. "Thane Maferath!" Silmarwen followed the gaze of the woman and settled upon an elderly man, heavy chain of bronze by the looks of it and a band around his long white hair, over his forehead. The same as that guy with the black hair with the griffons. Hmm.

"Do we speak to them?" She asked, not sure but puzzling the thoughts in her head on how to pass this Trial.

"I would assume. Sigfrost always gives riddles to those He visits in the dreamworld." Dyr nodded. Silmarwen took point and looked up at the imposing warrior. He had that long tattoo down his face - Korth she remembered.

"So? Maferath the great an powerful?" She smirked. He looked down and frowned at her.

"Yes. You seek the way forward so answer the riddles of those here." Silmarwen glanced back at the smug Avvar Commander. "A Poison of the soul, a passion's cruel counterpart; From love she grows, till love lies slain. Of what do I speak?"

"Jealousy." Loghain quickly answered. Silmarwen's ears lowered, dismayed that she didn't get to show off.

"Yes, jealousy drove me to betrayal. I was the greatest general of the Avvar... but beside her, I was nothing. Hundreds fell before her on bended knee, they loved her, but I did too." He smiled ruefully before becoming a wisp and shooting at the ornate doors. Fucking Void that was weird!

"A great Thane brought low by jealousy." Dyr breathed. "Quick thinking Loghain!"

Loghain grunted and shrugged. "Oo! I get to pick the next one!" Silmarwen shot her hand up as she ran over to a random ghost figure and looked the man, obviously a mage up and down. Hmm... who?

"Archon Hessarian if I am to guess." Dyr spat the words out like poison. The ghost looked sadly at the Commander.

"She wields the broken sword, and separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?" He spoke, Tevene accent thick but understandable.

Silmarwen snapped her fingers as she thought, brow creasing. "Mercy." Carver nodded. Silmarwen glared at him and narrowed her eyes. The warrior shrugged.

"I could not bear the sight of Andraste's suffering, and mercy bade me end her life." Then just like the Maferath ghost he upped and ran his white light into the door.

"My turn next you fuckwads." Silmarwen said flippantly, bustling over to the next. A girl with pigtails and a doll in her hands. She looked over at the Commander with an eyebrow arched who shrugged non-committally. Big help!

"And you are?" She stated, wary of swearing at ghost children.

"Ealisay." The child ghost giggled before straightening out like she knew she had to do something important. "The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?" She smiled cheerfully up at her.

"A coconut." Oghren laughed. Silmarwen caught the thwack Carver gave the dwarf of the head before Dyr quickly intercepted the white ghost now turning red.

"A song!" The ghost stopped turning red and went back to white.

"Yes. I was Andraste's dearest friend in childhood, and always we would sing. She celebrated the beauty of life, and all who heard her would be filled with joy. Once she took the mantle of war she would never sing of simple things again." The girl smiled and did the slamming of white essence into the door.

"Really a fucking coconut!" Silmarwen turned on the still laughing dwarf. "You becoming a comedian all of a sudden?"

"Could'a been, saw a bird once with one in it's talony things. Sodding weird." The dwarf grunted. Silmarwen slapped her face.

"Drunk." Kornelius sighed.

"It were moving it!" Oghren protested.

"Coconuts grow in Rivain, not Ferelden. Are you saying coconuts migrate?" Loghain harrumphed, getting off the subject!

"It were a sparrow thingy. Thorvald showed me a picture he drew a the birds so I could tell 'im which it were!" Oghren nodded, his beard flapping with the nod. Silmarwen groaned.

"What? A swallow carrying a coconut?" Carver laughed.

"It could grab it by the husk!" Oghren snapped.

"It's not a question of where he grips it! It's a simple question of weight ratios! A five ounce bird could not carry a one pound coconut. " Kornelius laughed. "Oh our dear Oghren!"

"That's Mighty Oghren to you Sparklefingers." The 'Mighty Oghren' smirked.

Silmarwen stomped her foot like a petulant child. "Not fucking helping! Next fucking ghost bastard we speak to - he's mine!"

"It might've been bigger now you mention it." Oghren said quietly, to whit she ignored him.

She stomped her way to the next ghost that hadn't actually taken notice of their ridiculous spat. Oh, an elven one! "Shartan himself." Dyr sounded in awe. Silmarwen found herself liking it because this Shartan was really obviously an elf, a Dalish one, with the tattoos and everything and a long gnarled staff out proudly. Of course she knew that but it was still nice to see. Yes, she liked Shartan by the looks of it. He bowed theatrically at them.

"I'd neither a guest nor a trespasser be; in this place I belong that belongs also to me." Shartan tilted his head, smiling. "Of what do I speak?"

Silmarwen understood that clearly, one of the same musings she'd had for most of her life since she'd been a mage. She looked behind her to see everyone looking expectantly at her, not willing to spike her ire. "Home." The elven mage grinned. She'd not been with the Dalish long enough to think of that life as having her home and never though Kinloch Hold was one. Her home had become with the Wardens and she liked it.

Shartan looked sad. Oh Creator's balls! "It was my dream for the people to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste, against the Imperium. But she was betrayed, and so were we." He nodded briskly and did the same white throwing of self into the door.

"I'm fucking awesome." Silmarwen cheered, glad she was correct and didn't get interrupted.

"Yes Mari, we know." The Commander shook her head. "Lead the way to Andraste's mother Brona who is sitting patiently for us?"

Silmarwen followed the honey gaze and say the demure woman sitting, the only ghost that was. She almost skipped over and the ghost stood tiredly, if ghosts did that. "Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Thought's strange sister dwells in night, is swept away by dawning light. Of what do I speak?" This woman had the three finger width tattoos on her right cheek. Sigfrost, traditional mage markings the Commander had said when they inducted Carver into the Ash Warriors tradition. Half the reason she and Bethany had the painted tattoo. Hmm, Andraste's mother was a mage. Was Andraste?

"Hey, was Andraste a mage?" She asked off-handedly.

"Andraste was a shaman, yes." The Commander answered.

"Righty then, answer's a dream. Mages can control their dreams obviously." Silmarwen shrugged.

"A dream came upon me, as my daughter slumbered beneath my heart. It told of her life and her betrayal and death. I am sorrow and regret. I am a mother weeping bitter tears for a daughter she could not save." The Brona ghost nodded sadly and did as the others did.

"Lot a these people are sparklefingers." Oghren grunted. "That Hessarian bloke, that Shartan chappie, Brona woman. Lots a mages."

"Magic was more common because it was seen a normal thing, you all know in the circle we're not allowed to have children, so obviously we don't get to pass those magical tendencies down to our children." Silmarwen shrugged, used to that horrid fact. Morrigan and Bethany were the first apostates she'd met since her incarceration in the circle. Then the mage girl Lowenna with the griffons and that Jarl bloke that scowled and called everyone lowlanders. He wasn't a happy bloke that human.

The next ghost was another mage, luck be a lady tonight! This one looked fondly over to where Archon Hessarian had stood. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?" Her voice was a harsh Tevene growl that made Dyr growl back despite it being a ghost.

"Vengeance, like the vengeance the Avvar will have against your crimes." Dyr spat.

The ghost looked calculating at the Commander. "My husband Hessarian would have chosen a quick death for Andraste I made him swear that she would die, publicly with her warleaders, that all would know the Imperium's strength." She smiled. "I am Lady Vasilia, I am Justice, I am Vengeance. Blood can only be paid in blood."

Dyr growled again before the Lady fucking Vasilia poof'ed into the door. "Next one! No more growling Commander, not an attractive look."

The Commander arched an eyebrow and growled mockingly and walked over to the next, a warrior judging by the bronze plate and huge shield on his arm - he had the Hakkon tattoo like Dyr. He nodded at the fellow Avvar that approached him. "Jarl Harvard, answer my riddle if you would. The bones of the world stretch towards the sky's embrace. Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what do I speak?"

Silmarwen didn't know the fuck he was on about but the Commander grinned knowingly. "The mountains we Avvar retreated to, the bare bones of the world."

Harvard nodded happily. "Yes. I was Thane Maferath's greatest friend. I carried Andraste's ashes out of the Tevinter into the mountains to see the east where she could gaze ever into the sky in wait for if the Lady of the Skies chose to favour her."

He folded his hands and walked over to the door with how close they were to it and embraced turning into the white wisp, joining his ghostly friends in the door. Lots of ghosts in that door.

"Last one's mine!" Silmarwen ran over to the last one, another man in matching plate to the Harvard fellow and he nodded toward them, same tattoos as Thorvald.

"No man has seen it but all man know it. Lighter than air, sharper than any sword. Comes from nothing but would fell the strongest armies. Of what do I speak?"

Silmarwen was stuck and looked back, worried and ears lowered sadly at the others. Loghain looked the most likely to know the answer judging by the look of blank he gave. The man gave blank to everyone being the taciturn dour-faced taskmaster that made her do sit ups and push ups he was. This was his blank 'well I know' face, only slightly different to the blank 'I'm not saying anything' face he had. Loghain sighed.

"Hunger."

They looked back at Harvard's twin and he smiled weakly. "I am Cathaire, I lead Andraste and Maferath's army. Hunger was the weapon we used against the wicked men of Tevinter. Imhar kindled the sun's flame, scorching the land. Their crops failed, and their armies could not march. Then He opened the heavens and bade the waters flow, and washed away their filth. Only He could have used such a cunning trick." Cathaire nodded to them and made his hand into a fist, crossing it over his chest as he became the last wisp to float softly to the door.

When he finally got there it clicked and opened wide. Dyr put her hand up and motioned a hand at the glowing words suddenly on the quoin above the open doors. "The next is the Trial of Imhar, the God of cunning, trickery and wit. This will be a test of our ability to use our minds rather than any knowledge such as this last trial."

Silmarwen nodded and followed after the Commander as they went past the doors.

It was only a small walk before the corridor widened into a large atrium room, a deep, very deep pit without railings ahead. The lyrium was so much stronger here, it was getting more magical the further they carried into this gauntlet.

"Well how the fuck do we get past this? Is it broken?" She snorted flippantly.

"I do not believe so." Dyr pursed her lips. "Fan around the edges, see if there is a puzzle to figure that will somehow let us across."

They did as ordered, the Commander was particularly good at commanding when she wanted to be. "Well I guess we're sodding stuck." Oghren grunted and flumped down onto the floor with a clatter of his armour. There was a stone on stone grating noise and the dwarf lowered slowly.

"Fucking Void Oghren what'd you break!" Silmarwen cursed when the floating rock in the middle of the chasm caught her eye. It was half there, as was the one next to it. "Get up! You did something!"

The dwarf narrowed his eyes and huffed as he moved off where he was sitting, the stone lifted itself slowly and the floating stones disappeared.

"Maker's breath, Oghren figured it?" Kornelius laughed. "So what do we do?"

"Imhar's laughter!" The Commander shook her shoulders laughing. She stepped onto a stone and two different stone pieces sprang into life in the chasm, one three quarters of the way over and the other in the first quarter. Oghren chuckled and stood back on his stone.

The third one became more real and the one in the last quarter came back into existence in it's halfway state. "So we figure which stones make which floating stones real, and just hop across. I guess only a certain amount of us will be able to get further through then." Kornelius mused aloud. "Let's get cracking then!"

* * *

It soon became apparent only three stones could be depressed at a time. Dyrfinna sat with Silmarwen, Loghain and Kornelius as Oghren and Carver were testing which stones corresponded with which floating stones. They would then figure out with what they wrote how the chasm would be passable.

"I might only be possible for three of us to actually get across safely." Kornelius hmm'ed and wrote down another stone, this one he called 'Right Three'. "If we place people onto the correct stones first, the first floating stone will come into reality. We then move on the standing stones while keeping the first one real to make the second floating one real. We must select somebody to cross, standing on the first floating stone and so forth."

"I volunteer!" Silmarwen stuck her hand up and waved it. "I'm lighter!"

"But there's another God in the Avvar Parthenon, so Dyr needs to get across too. It might only be one of us, so the Commander goes first just in case, then you and then..." Kornelius jotted down 'Left Three' on his vellum.

"You." Silmarwen said to her fellow shaman. "We'll have you two Paragon Sherlock people and me."

Dyrfinna nodded. "So have we a plan on the order to step on the stones?" She asked, standing up and dusting off the sand from her greaves.

"Give me a moment. Loghain? You're a smart bloke, help me." The shaman leaned over to Loghain and pointed at his working so far.

"Start Oghren on Right Two, Carver on Left Six and me on Left Three." The warrior hmm'ed. "Good start and it should make the first two floating stones real enough. Then?"

"Dyr walks to the second stone safely." Kornelius stood up. "You all heard, let's get this started as a practice, then we do the real run when we know it's possible."

Oghren, Carver and Loghain moved into position and stood on their stones. The first two floating ones became solid in the chasm. Dyrfinna stepped onto the first and it seemed as solid as any floor, she stepped onto the second. "Yes, just don't listen." Kornelius snorted, standing next to Loghain as both men pointed at the jottings.

Dyrfinna sighed and moved back. "Just testing, we needed to know."

"So then Loghain moves to Right Four." Loghain and Kornelius moved around to the stone deemed 'Right Four'. "And Oghren over to Left One." The dwarf grumbled and walked with arms crossed as they ordered him about.

The first floating stone was gone now but the third floating one looked very real. "Then Dyr moves to the third floating stone. What do you think next?"

Loghain took the vellum out of Kornelius' hands and scowled at it a moment. "Carver moves to Right Five and I go to Left Two. Finna finishes the bridge and we repeat from the beginning for you and Silmarwen." He marked that down on the vellum with Kornelius' pencil as the two warriors tested it out. "Done. Finna, good luck."

Dyrfinna snorted. "I will be fine."

"Starting positions! Oghren on Right Two, Carver on Left Six and Loghain over on Left Three."

There was a groaning as they could have just done that right without needing to test. "I move to the second floating stone then?" Dyrfinna asked as she moved to the correct place. She thought.

"Yes. We'll do the ordering, just follow!" Kornelius answered. "And stay there until we say! Loghain, we move now, over to Right Four!"

Loghain rolled his eyes but complied, the shaman following with a bustle of his robes with the vellum in hands. "Oghren over to Left One!"

"Right you are Sparklefingers!" Oghren cheered sarcastically, shuffling his feet as he moved to the right stone. Dyrfinna felt the change in the air and the third stone ahead her became more real.

"Move forward Commander!" Dyrfinna shrugged and stepped forward onto the third floating stone. "We're doing great, now Carver over to Right Five!"

Carver sighed and walked to the right stone. "I feel like this would work if we just left our weapons on the stones."

"Then who'd fucking move them?" Silmarwen groaned. "This way we know it'll work."

"Loghain, let's move again! Left Three hoy!" Kornelius sounded excited and Dyrfinna supposed figuring out the Trial of Imhar was quite the accomplishment considering the constraints. It might have taken them a lot longer without his help.

Loghain snorted and moved with quick, long strides around. The last floating stone came into reality and Dyrfinna walked over it and over to the other side.

The stone beneath her lowered and she held her hands out for balance. Korth's throne! "The whole fucking bridge! Well yippee-fucking-do-dah! We only had to do it once!" That was definitely Silmarwen.

"Follow then, the next Trial will be that of the Lady of the Skies, and she is the Goddess of death!" She snapped. There was a shuffling and clank of robes and armour, the Warden presences following after her as she strode into the dark tunnel ahead.

Dyrfinna took a deep breath, thinking on what her father had said... the black pearl jammed in her gap in her teeth would protect her from any harm the gauntlet could provide. What in Sigfrost's name could that mean?

* * *

Loghain kept back while the others tried to anticipate the last trial. Ahead them was light and they moved just that fraction quicker toward it and what would be the last trial. The corridor opened up into a very large room, much like an empty Chantry, an altar in front of them and a wall of flames barring the back of the room from being seen. The heat from the flames felt real enough.

"Fuck me but I can feel that. Constant magical flames!" Silmarwen shivered for effect.

"S'not natural for this amount a lyrium on the surface. Hey Boss! You thinking what I'm thinking?" Finna looked down at the altar instead of addressing the dwarf, lips moving as she read the inscription.

"Step through the flames as one was born, the Lady of the Skies will not abandon another to the flames." She read out.

"Huh?" Oghren grunted.

"Take off your clothes." She clarified.

"Whey-hey! Never thought you'd ask! I like what you think!"

"Wait a moment? Why?" Carver furrowed his brow. Finna sighed and tapped the altar with her metallic finger.

"As we are born, we are born vulnerable, without armour or leathers. All we need do is touch the altar with bare skin and our worldly trappings will disappear, we walk through the flames with faith that the Lady of the Skies will not deem us ready to die. After that? Only Sigfrost knows." She stuck her finger in her mouth and unbuckled around the wrist, yanking it off with her teeth. "Oghren, what were you thinking before?"

"You know... lyrium and templars. It's sodding addictive right? So the mountain has too much and the people here are just breathing it in. They go crazy after too long. Lyrium makes those ghost things like near the Anvil of the Void. Makes sense." He shrugged. Loghain's eyebrows raised. Well he didn't expect such an extended thought from the dwarf half-liquor.

"An interesting postulate." Kornelius hmm'ed. "I shan't like to test it though. Must we really be naked? Completely... arses on show naked?"

"Yes." Finna sighed.

"I have scars. Not nice scars." He pinched his mouth to the side.

"We all have scars." Silmarwen shrugged. "And Carver has a mabari on his arse so it can't be that fucking bad. Why? You got carved 'The Lady of the Skies sucks' on your chest?"

Kornelius snorted. "Nothing blasphemous to the Avvars, or Andrastian or any religion I know of. But the templars did brand me in Aeonar. I would prefer... not showing off my naked skin."

"Would it work if we're not Avvars?" Loghain voiced his own concern.

"I'll test it!" Oghren grinned, touching the side of the altar with his forehead. His armour just vanished and Loghain quickly looked away as the dwarf started jumping about proclaiming 'look at the Mighty Oghren's cock and tremble in it's sodding might!'

"Just go through the flames, disgusting!" Carver shouted. Oghren grunted.

Loghain managed to look again at the dwarf as he walked with a wiggle of his ginger-haired behind into the flames. "Oo! Sodding warm! I ain't burnin' up though, it's sorta tingly." There was a pause and the dwarf started laughing. "It put some armour back on! The bastards!"

"Even a God can't stand Oghren naked!" Silmarwen laughed. "What do you see on the other fucking side?"

"Big gold vase and a sodding statue!" Was the reply. Helpful!

"Who's going next?" Carver looked hesitantly toward the flames. Loghain sort of understood, dwarves were resistant to a lot of magic.

"I shall." Finna shrugged. Loghain glared at the two remaining men in their group this side and thankfully they both averted their eyes before she slapped her palm on the altar. Silmarwen giggled.

"Boys, you're missing out on a cracking arse here, and look at those pins!" The elf whistled and Finna glared at her.

"My... pins are not for staring at." She growled before hurrying over to the wall of flames. Loghain didn't even realise he was holding his breath until there was a laugh from in them. "It worked! Just get on with coming through!"

Carver shook his head and touched onto the altar and took off in a run at the flames and Silmarwen chuckled, doing the same and commenting on how his 'mabari should wag it's tail' for her. There was some talk on the other side of the flames but it was muffled.

"Come on then. Just us." Kornelius looked down at the altar. "You're scarred badly right?"

"How bad is it?" He asked off-handedly.

"Just, look at my back and tell me, I was whipped, branded and then chewed on by rats before I managed to heal myself even a little." The mage grimaced and turned around before he put his hand down on the altar. Loghain didn't often look at people in great detail, more interested in getting on with a job. It was the eyes he never forgot. With Kornelius it would be the state of his back.

The mage had a scar that ran from nape of his neck to the base of his spine, raised like a pink flatworm all the way down. Other than that there were welts from whips over his shoulders and a network of letter-like brands over his kidneys. And it all looked like someone had frayed the edges of a piece of hessian. It wasn't pretty and how the man had survived was surely a sign that someone out there was looking out for him. "That bad huh?"

"I didn't say anything." Loghain harrumphed.

"Now you see why I was desperate to get out. Why I kept the secret about my skills. I'm not having the Chantry put they noses in my affairs again." Kornelius sighed. "Feels right to get this off my back as it were. The letters, in the order they branded me spell out spellbind. Nasty slur."

Loghain shook his head. "Come on then, we have flames to walk though." He undid his gauntlet and touched to the altar.

It certainly felt like he was naked. And the flames certainly felt a lot hotter. Loghain felt oddly right though as he took his first steps into the flames. Oghren was right, it did tingle, it felt like something was being done to him but what was the question.

There was a giggle as he stepped through to the other side and he found the others looking a bit different truth be told. Oghren wasn't in his Warden armour but that he recognised as Legion of the Dead if the skull was anything. Silmarwen was back in her green and gold circle robes, Carver in his Warden chain and plate oddly enough and Finna in armour he'd not seen before. Loghain looked down and although the added forty or so pounds of armour was there, it was the armour he'd ripped off the chevalier commander back at River Dane - just as shiny as the day it was forged rather than worn with use and scrubbed many times. He looked over at Kornelius who was in awe of the robes he was clad in.

"What's that bloody flame done?" He asked.

"Put us how we should be." Finna shrugged. "I am in traditional Avvar chain and this chestplate?" She rapped her leather knuckles on it. "Is apparently that of a Reaver according to Silmarwen and what she has read. Kornelius?"

"That is a Reaver chestplate." Kornelius nodded. "And look! Traditional Mortalitasi robes! I haven't worn these in years!"

They were black as sin, with a red lining and a hooded cloak - and an embellished skull on the shoulders in black thread. The staff he held had a goat skull atop it - not Warden issue. Loghain looked down at his belt and his usual weaponry was in place in scabbard. He looked over at the others. Carver's sword looked much more study, sharper if such a thing were possible. Finna... didn't have her sword and shield but her father's axe still, looking much larger and sharper than it had. Silmarwen had a staff that looked ethereal, pale wood with a line of runes on the end that glowed silver, blue and green separately. Loghain wondered briefly what everyone else in the Wardens would have emerged through the flames like.

"Our Warden armour... argh, Gertie and Yana will kill us for losing it." Carver snorted. The dwarven seamstresses would. They'd been finicky over getting the right sizes for each of them. "Well, it was nice knowing you lot!"

"Oh shut it Hawkling. This is pretty swanky." Oghren hammered his fist on his chesplate.

"You say that, I'm pretty sure these have lyrium weave inside." Silmarwen lifted the hem of her skirts and grinned. "Oh fuck yes! I'm the envy of every mage still stuck in the circle now!"

"Should we be in awe of our clothes when... well..." Kornelius pointed upwards and Loghain's jaw dropped just a little. It was a statue of Andraste, in colour. Brown hair like a flame down her back and a silver circlet holding it all back, staff in hand, red robes flowing and would you know it, three green stripes across her cheek. An Avvar mage then if he tried to remember what each tattoo was and who would traditionally have them. If he was right, only the mages had certain tattoos only for them.

"So Andraste really was a mage?" Silmarwen breathed.

"Yes. Andraste An Brona was a shaman." At the base of the statue, upon a pedestal a large urn, golden and engraved with familiar looking but still alien figures.

They neared it, their goal. Not for any reason but to prove the existence of it and stop an Exalted March on the Frostbacks and possibly Ferelden. "The Chantry is going to be so pissed." Silmarwen broke the tension.

"They will be. If you keep placing shaman in bondage this will not bode well for the country. I can see the chant tree taking this relic and trying to destroy every person who has even the barest knowledge of it." Finna commented. "We will have to lie to Genetivi but he will eventually be able bodied enough to trek here himself. They will wonder why we covered up the existence of this place and the ashes."

Loghain had thought on that dilemma himself. Rumour was rumour, but knowledge had power. If Thedas knew Andraste was a mage it could be dangerous beyond measure.

Tevinter would be one of the first, with their Black Divine, to declare war.

Rivain wouldn't be far behind with the amount of apostates that ran off there because they were quite lax with their mages and their traditions on seers.

Nevarra might with their Mortalitasis that were free enough to be political advisers if he remembered correctly.

That left Antiva, Orlais,, the Free Marches the Anderfels and Ferelden. The Wardens allowed mages and the Anderfels was infested with them. And everywhere else was pretty strict on apostates and mages - if the problems in Kinloch Hold were any forbearance, things could get nasty if any mage heard the religion that meant they were kept under lock and key was headed by a mage, it might just ignite a Thedas-wide-war. Between mages and everyone else. This was just as dangerous as the darkspawn - at least you could identify a darkspawn in a line up of people but a mage and an archer could both look exactly the same in chivvies.

And then it came back to Orlais, the seat of the White Divine. Not only would they want to snuff out the knowledge of Andraste being a mage but they'd also want the ashes. "We'll have to kill Genetivi then." Loghain finally came to the conclusion. "How much blasphemy would the Chantry find in that Gauntlet we surpassed?"

"A fuck-tonne." Silmarwen frowned.

"More than enough to send droves of armies upon the Frostback Mountains." Finna sighed. "We take a scoop of these ashes, the magical build up here might have leant some of these fabled healing powers to them. We can test this should one of us become mortally wounded or a person we need is deathly ill. Other than that we must kill Genetivi and reactivate the sigils about Haven Hold to stop outsiders from entering." Loghain nodded.

"We'll have to make it look like he just died rather than a dagger to the back." Kornelius tilted his head. "Freeze the old codger?"

"That'll work." Loghain agreed. "Can't tell how long someone's been dead if they're frozen."

"Are we actually talking about murdering a man in front of Andraste's ashes?" Carver scoffed.

"Yes." Finna sighed. She walked up the steps and took a leather pouch out, lifted the top of the urn and scooped up some of the fine dust within. "Any leader of a war understands the need of more gristly outcomes. They are not written of but each of us will be a murderer for what we do. The darkspawn, our recruiting... it is all murder when we die within thirty years or straight away. Attacks by bandits, highwaymen, assassins. The Carta we exterminated. Blood runs on all our hands. This murder of one man will stop war if that is how we each came to the conclusion."

Oghren sniffed. "You still have that vial of dragon blood. All we do now might be fer nothin' if one do-gooder gets into this place."

"I do." Finna pulled the dragon's blood vial out of her pocket, rolling it in her fingers a moment. "But I will not risk binding whatever my father wished to bind to that dragon to it. Bottom's up?" She uncorked it and swallowed the lot, throwing the empty vial to the floor and crushing it beneath her boot.

"What in the Void was that for?" Carver's mouth was agape. "You could've just smashed it."

"My armour is that of the Avvar and the Reavers. I am destined to be a Reaver according to the Lady of the Skies. I only half-think things through" Finna shrugged and spat on the ground a bloody gob. "Word of warning. Dragon blood is disgusting."


	38. Funerary Rites

Author note: A few liberties will be taken with the Reaver spec, but you all guessed that. Alternate to berserker/ash warrior where they're numbing the pain out - Reavers embrace pain - and like blood mages - get more powerful the more they bleed. Now think how Dyr's blocking pain - and suddenly embracing it in flashes... it's going to be fun writing fight scenes when the Reaver specs really kick in!

Love to everyone reading, I'll be giving a one-shot out to each the first three reviewers of this chapter because I'm in such a good mood. No constraints - smut, friendship, horror, angst, preferred Origins but DA2 could be a cool challenge. Maybe three constraints - no Alistair-mancy. I mean it. Nope. And I'm not doing incest. Also, I'd prefer it if you've reviewed before... But M's the limit! No other constraints! Put it in a PM after you review or in the actual review!

Even **Judy** can have a one-shot if she puts it in the review(love you my lovely guest!). And you all know I write m/m, f/f and f/m relationships (including smut) so really, other than on Alistair and incest I have noooo problems with anything you'll throw at me. (fingers crossed for reviewers not to go crazy - I'll not give the impossible the time of day).

Enjoy the chapter - it's my goal now to finish this story by new-year 12am GMT. Who thinks I can do it?

* * *

Dyrfinna exited at the side door from the large room that housed the ashes of Andraste An Brona to the east, the sun setting, so dark shadows bathed the side they'd chosen. She really needed to stop being so compulsive about drinking blood. First when she'd just drunk the Joining to show Jory he was being a ninny and then just now. It was warm, coppery, like raw meat too and the taste just didn't want to vanish. Not as bad as darkspawn blood by far but not the sort of thing you sat down with a book to drink.

It felt so strange when it'd hit her stomach. Radiating that heat into every vein possible that she felt draconic herself in the chilly mountain air with plumes of her breath cascading out of her mouth. Everyone else was breathing the same white smoke out but it was still a strange thought across her mind.

Reaver. Kornelius had babbled about their powers as they'd found the door at the side open. The ability to control and tame dragons, kill them with brutal efficiency, linked to them like Wardens and darkspawn. The same constitutional strength a dragon had itself until it was near impossible to strain a muscle, that she'd hardly feel the cold with the heating properties it lent. Reavers healed a lot quicker than normal warriors, and didn't get hurt as easily either.

Together with Oghren they'd had the idea that it might even affect her new Berserker style of fighting compared to her Ash Warrior training. That she had an axe rather than a sword and shield might be a good thing considering the damage she'd be throwing about at their foes. The two weapons (because a shield was much weapon as additional armour) would be more cumbersome than fierce, so it would be directed into the one weapon. The proof would be in the pudding though - she'd have to test it somehow.

Then Loghain called her a ninny for drinking dragon blood without thinking properly. She shrugged and tested out the swing the axe on her back, the same metal on the head, the same haft and yet it was different. Where the grip had been a vicious spike and the head larger, a cutting edge on both sides. It looked and felt right.

She felt the dragon, and that was a strange sensation. Not like the darkspawn that felt like revulsion pumping in her veins or like the Wardens that tingled in her spine or warmed her blood depending on proximity. Neither was it like the adrenaline or rage that fuelled her fighting. This felt like light. It was odd, like joy, happiness and light being filtered through a stained-glass window in her veins. Dyrfinna looked up at the sky so white the clouds couldn't be seen proper and the dragon was circling, head tilted toward her.

"That dragon knows." Kornelius gulped audibly. "It'll either come straight for us or we'll have a dragon against the Archdemon too."

"Why does that sound worse than not having a dragon against the Archdemon?" Carver winced.

"I have no honest idea." Kornelius answered the warrior. The dragon turned about in the air, Dyrfinna could almost feel those slitted eyes watching her as it soared overhead and landed on the icy outcroppings, staring down as if weighing it's options up. "I think we need to kill it."

"Do we just kill everything now then?" Carver harrumphed.

"I like it. How'd we get the dragon down then?" Oghren cheered.

"Oh, never thought I'd be a dragonslayer. This'll be one for Thorvald to draw when I tell him all the fucking details." Silmarwen sounded like she was grinning even if she was chattering her teeth. Her circle robes were much thinner than the padded Warden ones and the child of Shartan was much thinner, willowy even that everyone else. Besides Kornelius who was skinny with wiry 'nervous' muscles from incarceration.

"Have you a plan Loghain?" She asked, hoping for one of the by now legendary amongst the Wardens plans that came out of thin air when they needed them. Those talons still looked horrible to be faced against, let alone fire and whatever else it could throw at them.

"Kill it and bottle the blood for sale? Get the hide for sale and any bones we can remove?" He actually looked very pensive, falling back on logical afterthoughts rather than a plan in the face of the large foe. Now wasn't the time though. Dammit!

"Call the dragon down and let the Mighty Oghren do his thing? How'dya call a dragon by the way. It ain't cooee or some sodding shit is it?" Dyrfinna scowled down at the dwarf.

"I suggest we get to higher ground, and if I yodel it may call enough attention to us. Why are we doing this again Kornelius?" She furrowed her brow, trying to think of ways to keep the dragon on the ground. Go for the wings first.

"Because it feels you, it'll follow - most dragons feel some kinship toward the Reavers while not openly hostile." The Nevarran sniffed, the end of his nose red again. "Silmarwen and myself I suggest mixing our lightning and ice spells to paralyse the creature, attack the wings and then really get stuck into it. It should be a case of whittling it down until a killing blow can be made."

Dyrfinna felt the dragon move and take off again. "We may have to move quickly then. Come on!" They set off into a run up the bridge toward the mountain caverns, she looked briefly toward the frosted corpse of her father and promised herself when the danger of the dragon had been dealt with she'd see him to the Lady of the Skies. It was the least she could do.

The traditional Avvar chain was not a common piece of armour, chain was difficult to make considering the individual links and this was the tempered steel, dyed bronze that covered over short-fuzzed sheepskin underpadding, the Reaver chestplate covering over her lungs and criss-crossed leather straps on her back holding it onto her body. It was more the sort of armour she could only have dreamed of, sturdy, flexible and more importantly - protective. The thing she was more concerned about was the cowled cloak. It was heavy, it would be warm but it would easily be burnt by a dragon or caught up in a sword or flail. She undid the cloak by the ties around her neck and started screaming the yodel at the top of her lungs.

The wind picked up dramatically and she spun on the spot, ready, axe in hands and poised. "Come at me you bastard!" That wasn't her, that was Silmarwen.

"Overgrown sodding nug!" Oghren... the dragon was getting closer and landed in the snow, talons crashing flurries up and wings splayed out.

Dyrfinna felt the adrenaline mixing with the rage, boiling in her blood, filling her entire being with the numbing thudding. The dragon pounded on the snow and stone bridge, mouth open and eyes set on her - it knew as much as she did the bond between them. It was wary but wasn't attacking - yet.

As it got closer the feeling of the dragon was almost euphoric, battling the adrenaline and rage and she moved forward. "You will kneel to me you overgrown lizard!" She screamed, on instinct alone the words spilling from her mouth.

The dragon looked perplexed, icicle bearded brow lowering over the yellow slitted eyes and mouth closing as if pursing it's lips.

In lowered on it's forelimbs, almost subservient. The feeling of power over the dragon was more light, shining deep inside her and she held her axe higher in warning. "Now!" She heard Kornelius yell in his accented voice.

The lightning and ice shot at the dragon simultaneously and it hissed in pain, falling forward in the snow as it was still lowering it's forelimbs, unable to halt it's massive body from it's trajectory. Dyrfinna sprang into action, sliding on the sleet with the spike on the end of her axe poised out. She jumped and hooked it into the shoulder of the dragon, unaware of the magic being parleyed about. The dragon roared in pain this time and there was a buzz, she looked only briefly to see the blue webbing held out by Silmarwen's staff and Oghren sliding toward the mouth of the dragon, flames cascading around the webbing that surrounded him. Loghain and Carver no-where to be seen at this moment.

She hefted herself to shove her boot on the ridge of scales that widened into the wing and swung onto the dragon, she wrenched the spike of the axe out and buried it again higher up the shoulder blade. Blood marred the scales, running in hot rivulets over the iced scales and melting it a watery, crimson wave, it slipped into the minute creases of her thick leather gloves as she held onto the rearing dragon.

The dragon was up on hind limbs when she could feel the beating of the wings underneath the soles of her boots, the play of muscles under the scales. She daren't close her eyes as she saw a lot of pointed rocks in a barrage slam through the thinner leathery wings, puncturing bloody holes into it.

The dragon crashed down again and she could feel the heat generated in it's neck, fire being breathed out. Imhar's laughter let the others not have gotten burnt from that!

She dared to yank the spike of her axe again and inched further over the slippery scales by kicking out, nearly slipping right over the dragon if not for the spines of it's back and throwing every piece of weight she could muster into the head of the axe. The dragon shuddered beneath her and she grit her teeth to stay put.

The dragon roared again, the sound reverberating in her bones - she could see Oghren latched similarly to her on the spiny tail, axe digging a gash into the scales there as he was thrashed about, holding onto the axe as if for dear life.

It screamed. The dragon screamed. Dyrfinna managed to see Carver wrench his greatsword down the belly, a slew of blood and fatty tissues spilling hot over him, steaming in the snow. The young warrior shouted, lunging again at the same gash, switching his grip on the sword to hold it overhead.

She turned her head, still holding tight to the patterned haft of the axe and saw Loghain covered in blood as well. Stabbing upwards at the forelimb that was trying to bat him away and shield scratched to buggery, his face looked bloody - either his own or that of the dragon worried her.

She knew the dragon was faltering, wings almost threadbare from stony projectiles, burnt on the edges and spiked with icicles.

There was a massive scrunching sound and Dyrfinna's eyes widened as she saw the more intact wing shrivel like the blood magic shaman in Howe's dungeons. Kornelius! She held onto the dragon by her thighs and pulled her axe free. She held onto the axe with one hand and pulled herself further up the bucking and incredibly hot dragon, the neck was almost like a boiling kettle on a fire even through her leather gloves, gripping an exposed spine at a time to slip further up until she had her knees almost behind the horns of the dragon.

It wasn't too pleased by where she was, thrashing it's head. Dyrfinna pushed her knees in tighter and held with one hand to a horn, the axe swinging with the momentum until it was poised over the forehead of the dragon's skull.

It felt right, it was hard to pinpoint the exact wash of emotion and instinct other than right but the axe felt like an extension of her arm when she removed her hand on the horn and clasped the blood-slicked glove next to her other hand on the axe, bringing it down with more strength and power ringing in her ears than she'd ever imagined.

It almost sang in her blood when the metal bit in, the cracking of bones as the dragon died to the blow. She was vaguely aware as she felt herself lift up, tumbling over the head of the dragon and axe coming with her.

* * *

Loghain shouted for the healer, ignoring the dying dragon when he saw Finna launched over it's head. His shoulders ached and he might have fractured something on his shield arm but he propelled forward in the bloody slush. Blood ran into his eyes from the talons that had gotten a lucky swipe on his brow and it stung like a bitch - he could still hear that crack though, that snapping and clank of armour. How he'd heard it over the dragon only the Maker knew but it was horrifying.

"Kornelius! Get your Nevarran arse here now!" Everything sped up, the thump of the massive dragon corpse, blue light eclipsing over blood and sweat. His knees ached where he'd landed heavily onto them and Finna's head was limp under his gauntlet holding it. "Wake up damn you!"

"Loghain! Move away now!" Kornelius snapped. "Give me space!"

He looked up at the mage, trying to pry himself away but her scalp was bloody, hot in his gauntlet, her eyelids fluttering as if in a dream sleep. Blood everywhere. He eventually managed the feat, as if it had been difficult and glared as that blue light intensified over her. Oghren limped up and kicked a flurry of snow. "Should'a been my dragon."

Loghain really wanted to throttle the dwarf that moment but remained calm, seething his breaths through his teeth, flurries of white smoke tumbling in the chilled air. "Ow, fucking ow!" Silmarwen sat on the floor. "Fucking ow, ow, ow! My poor fingers feel like they're vibrating off my hands!"

"Mari!" Carver, covered in gristle, more blood than armour or skin, snapped before Loghain got there. "Commander - downed. Shut up!" The elf glared at the young warrior about to say something when she glanced almost accidentally at Kornelius and Finna locked in the blue glowing.

"Oh shit!"

"Shit indeed." Carver sighed. "Can we really go through three Commanders during a Blight?"

Loghain strode over to the warrior and backhanded him across the face. "No." He ground out. No to the Commanders and no about Finna being gone. If Kornelius was healing she was still alive. He could see her breathing still.

"Bloody Void Loghain!" Carver clutched his jaw, smearing dragon blood about. Loghain took a deep breath, feeling the tingle in his spine - he looked over at the mage and warrior still on the floor. That wasn't a Warden tingle. That was still there. But this was different. He spat a glob of whatever he'd breathed in on the snow, it was vile.

"Korth's throne!" Loghain nearly grinned until a stone was chucked at his shoulder. It didn't hurt, merely made a clang, he didn't turn but knew it was Carver.

"Play nice mabari-arse. You did say something fundamentally stupid." Silmarwen chided.

"Must I open my eyes to childish bickering?" Finna laughed, as if she'd not been out cold in the snow just moments before.

"They're just being men, hitting each other and doing generally stupid male things." Accented mage spoke, sniffing. "But you're now right as snow, those Reaver healing abilities will kick in soon - until then you'll just have to hobble because I'm out of mana."

"You happen to be male." Finna countered, Loghain could tell she was smirking even if he couldn't see her face.

"I forget, being a mage." Kornelius chuckled. "You can stop being a worry wart now Loghain."

"Boss! You owe me a dragon!" Dwarf grumbled. Loghain ignored the banter for the most part as she was standing up, a thin sheen of blood over most of her, a tear in the buckles over her greaves on her left leg, but looking healthy. Much healthier than moments ago streaked in blood. Her hair stuck at odd angles, bloody but her cheeks were flushed pink and she grinned.

"Loghain? Why are you still bleeding? Kornelius! If you are able to heal why did I receive first healing? Sigfrost's pelt I am expendable compared to all of you! I will not have my Wardens falling apart at the seams!" Loghain grabbed her under the arms and would have nearly crushed the thrice-damned Avvar if not for her plate-covered chest.

"You Blighted ninny." He rumbled.

"Stop calling me that!" She grumbled. "And I felt so strange... like the moment I killed that dragon I could feel everything it was singing in my veins."

"And?" He pulled back, taking in everything of her face, those pale honey eyes worried. "What's wrong?"

"I should not... it was unnatural the connection I had with that dragon. Throughout that entire fight I was so conflicted with harming the dragon until I was in position to make that killing blow."

"Let me at the dragon! I'll suck it's veins dry! I'll gargle and spit!" They both looked to see Carver holding Oghren by the shoulders.

"Did he not drink already?" Finna laughed. There were a few shaken heads. "Then who else drank dragon blood... I feel them just as I do the Wardens..."

* * *

Alistair didn't know what they were doing, poking about an apostate's house. But they were. Bethany kept a ball of flames on the end of her staff ahead them, passing casks of ale, bags of barley and oats, peas and jars of preserved vegetables and fruits. Legs of mutton, beef and hung rabbits and geese, smoked and wrapped in rosemary and other herbs he wasn't too sure on by smell or limited sight all hung at the back. Then the cheeses, strong curds, sour bottles of vinegar, wines and finally the most treasured items of any pantry. The salt and spices. This place was lived in recently, if the food was any judge on habitable circumstances. The Warden in him wanted to just cut a slice off the wheel of cheese, rind and all - just to try it. The law-abiding and rational side of him abstained, not only was it bad to steal - stealing from an apostate didn't seem like a good idea in the slightest.

"Bethany?"

The mage hmm'ed brushing through the door, flickering light going with her. He followed after.

"Just what are we doing? This is someone's house!" He pursed his lips, still wary.

"Trying to find survivors?" She shrugged. "Maybe get some supplies for saving this village from darkspawn? I don't know really. Stave off lyrium shakes in the safe and dry in case more darkspawn come?"

Alistair laughed hesitantly, rubbing a small circle on the back of his neck. "Yeah, sorry for that."

"Not your fault. I'm sure the darkspawn won't apologise though." She shrugged, grinning. He smiled back affectionately, it was like Bethany knew how to say the right thing at the right time to either put him at ease or sometimes, he gulped, sometimes more impure thoughts would flit across his mind at the the thing she alluded to. "I can feel that magic lower in the house... in the cellars?"

"Then lead on."

They found their way to the hatches that lead to the cellars, cobwebs on the slanted ceiling overhead in stark shadow. But even with his limited templar abilities, even Alistair could sense some sort of magic nearby. Strong magic. The wooden steps creaked under his heavy Warden armour and he clutched to the bannister just in case.

They finished the descent to see a barrier of purple light covering half the very, very large cellar, people of all heights and sizes behind it but a blond man in brown waistcoat and bilious sleeves up his arms took their attention. Because he was the one holding the barrier up. He looked up at them and more importantly - at Bethany and the flame on the end of her staff.

He lowered his hand alongside the barrier. "Are you Wilhelm?" Bethany took point easily, apparently just as easily as she'd lead the Wardens after the first group in the tower.

The mage narrowed his eyes just a bit and tilted his head. "No. He was my father." He finally spoke. "Who are you?"

Bethany straightened out and smiled broadly, the man seemingly more at ease from that. "My name's Bethany Hawke and I'm a Grey Warden."

"Hawke? As in Malcolm?" Wilhelm's son furrowed his brow. "That would explain the mage part but the Grey Warden part you'll find me lacking in. Maker be praised though for your arrival. I take it that the darkspawn up there..." He trailed off, pinching his lips to the side.

"You knew my father? And the darkspawn have been dealt with, yes." Bethany nodded. "Luck of the Maker that the Grey Wardens were running low on supplies and we took the initiative to see past the blizzard."

"Blizzard?" Wilhelm's son sucked in a deep breath. "Amalia!" He paused, looking about. "Amalia you come out now!"

No mysterious 'Amalia' appeared. "Would Amalia be?" Alistair left the question hanging.

"My daughter and likely the cause of the blizzard. She was scared of the darkspawn, we all were. But she's not trained yet! She's... Maker's balls! Who opened the door to father's workshop!"

Wilhelm's son was staring at a wide open door, faint lights in a rainbow of colours glinting on the walls that could be seen like a stained glass window. No answer came from any of the people there except for 'I didn't see nothing' and 'Poor girl should've had her mother here' amongst other mumblings. "What's in your father's workshop that's so... dangerous to a young apostate?" Alistair asked.

Wilhelm's son glared at him and Bethany put a hand out. "Wilhelm was obviously a mage, there isn't much in a trained mage's arsenal not dangerous to a young, untrained apostate."

"Exactly. Oh please, you couldn't come with me... just in case she's in a pickle? I... I'm hardly trained myself... just enough to make the barriers and hide my magic." He grit his teeth.

"First, can I have you name? And second, have you got any lyrium?" Bethany asked slowly, fingering the edge of her staff.

"Nothing pure... father might have had a bit of smuggling... and it'd be in his workshop." Wilhelm's son took in a deep breath. "And Matthias."

"Alright then. Alistair - stay here with the people, make sure they know how to scrub darkspawn blood without tainting themselves - then get them safely back to their homes. I'll go." Bethany ordered seamlessly, taking charge like she'd always had it. Alistair nodded curtly and watched hesitantly as Matthias and Bethany went further underground into the workshop.

"So you're really Malcolm's daughter then?" He heard Matthias ask as the two mages were getting out of earshot.

"I haven't checked recently but yes."

"Good. Father always said if a black-haired man by the name of Malcolm Hawke ever shows up at the doorstep to let the sod in." Alistair didn't hear any more so he looked at the villagers that were all looking at him already.

"Are you really a Grey Warden?" A little boy asked, grubby face upturned but still clutching what could be his much older sister or mothers skirts.

"Oh I am, have you seen darkspawn wet their pants? Because they really fear us!" Alistair grinned, at ease talking to the small boy. He giggled and his sister or mother shook her head. "I mean, yes. Mighty warrior, fearless in the deep roads and scourge of evil standing right in front of you."

"Well that's good to hear. Now will you be helping us or not?" The sister/mother asked. Alistair straightened at her tone, just as commanding as any general.

"Right; follow me, get some buckets, lye soap and draw some water out the well. We're cleaning this village until it's spick and span, free of nasty darkspawn and their blood." Alistair looked over the villagers. "I'm Alistair by the way."

"Well Alistair by the way, you can help too." The sister/mother woman huffed, blustering past in her skirts and pinafore.

Alistair and the boy shared a conspiratorial look between them that spoke volumes of 'do as the woman says or we'll be in trouble of pulled ears and be mucking out the animals in no time if not'.

* * *

Silmarwen didn't know much about the Avvar funeral rites and to be completely honest she was intrigued to say the least. The Chantry said all bodies were to be burnt. Kornelius said in Nevarra it depended on your social class, nobility and Mortalitasi like him were mummified and placed in catacombs, a Necropolis of the dead - the lower classes were burnt.

She knew the Dalish buried the dead because of Elrohir re-teaching her the culture she'd been born into. They placed a seed in their mouth and buried them... a tree growing from their death as a symbol of re-birth, life springing forth from death.

She'd had a friend in from Rivain that demanded if she died she was to be floated on a raft into Lake Calenhad and burnt from a distance - because in tradition it was a sea burial the Rivaini had.

There were rumours and whispers about the Chasind eating their dead but that had to be fallacy. It sounded fucking gross.

So what did the Avvar do? Carver, Oghren and Loghain hadn't said a word while Dyr had been tearing strips off her fathers cloak and wrapped his body up in it once his armour had been removed.

Silmarwen sat with Kornelius on the Commander's cloak, both a little worn out from strenuous magical use and not much lyrium between them. She had one vial left and he had two, but they might need them until they found a way _around _the cultists, drakes and dragonlings they'd come through.

Oghren was still grumbling about the dragon and not being allowed to drink the blood. Carver was sure he wasn't the Reaver Dyr could feel... "Loghain?"

The taciturn man looked sideways at her, busy with his skinning knife and stripping the fatty tissues off of the dragon hide. The underbelly had been remarkably intact, so why not clean it up and sell it - they killed the fucking thing!

Carver had bottled up two flasks of dragon blood and had her ward the top so Oghren didn't get into it. Oghren himself was working on pulling a leg bone out of the dragon, they already had a shoulder blade out while Dyr did her thing. "You're a true dragon warrior now ain't you? Fuck! He's hiding that he's a Reaver!"

He sighed and nodded. "Dyr! Loghain's your fellow dragon blood drinker!"

"I didn't drink it." Loghain tapped the deep cut that was scabbing over his eyebrow.

"How in the sod is Grumpy Pants allowed to be a Reaver and I'm not!" Oghren had pulled his gag out.

"I assumed as such." The Commander wiped her fringe back, straw-coloured hair still clotted through with blood. "And Oghren! You are a Berserker! On of the finest dwarven warriors to walk Thedas! These Reaver skills are not very compatible with those skills!"

"Fine, be that way!" Oghren pouted, getting back to his leg-bone pulling. "You owe me a drinkin' contest girlie! Proper dwarven or Avvar ales and we ain't stopping until you're on your arse!"

"Oghren! Funeral?" Carver glowered.

"Well get on with the sodding thing, last one had ale and I don't have any to share."

"Miser!" Silmarwen chuckled, not wanting dwarven dirt-ale but still missing a good bottle of wine sneaked with Jowan, Anders and Elrohir in the door.

The Commander stood up properly, the shrouded in ripped cloak body of Kolgrim on a rocky outcropping. Silence fell over the Wardens and Dyr took in a deep breath. "O Lady of the Skies. Take the body of Kolgrim Ar Brynn O Auonar, his honour restored in death and survived by his daughter, Dyrfinna An... Dyrfinna O Auonar." She stopped a while, breath coming out in soft little plumes from her nose.

Silmarwen fidgeted on the cloak, hoping something hadn't gone wrong for some reason. The Commander opened her mouth again. "He was a warrior of great strength, protected many years ago from the painted lowlanders. Korth gave him the strength in his convictions and back. Uvolla what love he showed. Hakkon tempered him until he felt no pain. Sigfrost wisdom that he may have used in ill, but are we not all living, breathing beings? Imhar the cunning to scrub a life in the mountains as any Avvar and finally we ask you take him to rest at your side Freyja." Dyr shuddered, closing her eyes and muttering something in Old Ferelden.

"Let your messengers be your guide, O Lady of the Skies." She unsheathed her axe from her back and rested it for a few moments over his neck. She was really doing funeral rites for a man she killed (he was her father, the elf could give her some slack) - but really?

Silmarwen's eyes widened when she realised that the axe wasn't being symbolically held there. What in the Creators name? The moment stretched on as she lifted the axe up high and brought it down on his neck with a wet thunk against the stone. The Commander was wearing her stoic face, eyes glassy. She moved quickly, repeating the chopping on his shoulders next, then knees and hips last. It was all quite neatly done - like joining a piece of meat.

Dyr wiped her thumb across the band of her tattoo and bowed her head. She knelt down and picked up the dismembered head, turning back to the stone ruins around the entrance to the temple that held the ashes of Andraste. She scampered up them and put the head up there on one of the highest crags, returning in a monotonous way with the other limbs and finally torso until it was done.

Silmarwen shivered. It was so... odd, to see the whole of the ritual, the words spoken with such belief. She didn't believe in anything really - she was told about the Maker, told about the Creators. She swore normally to one or the other when she felt like it but belief wasn't something she had. The Commander had belief, knew her traditions... it was unwavering in the face of so many other systems of belief that it made the elf wonder why she didn't have belief.

When it was all over Oghren carried the bones on his back, skinned for the most part from dragon flesh, Carver the blood, Loghain the rolled dragon hide and scales. Kornelius kept up the from with the Commander, a flame on the end of his staff. Time to get back to the griffons and meet the Dalish.

Oh how she was looking forward to that! The people she'd come from! She'd bet her stipend they'd be in a crock of shit just like looking for these ashes, Denerim and the tower was (and evidently the dwarves from what she gathered).

"So we sneak in the tunnels like dogs with our tails between our legs so we can get back to Genetivi... kill him and then run like fuck to the griffons. That's the plan?" Silmarwen asked with eyebrows raised.

"That is." The Commander sighed.

* * *

Thorvald lowered the griffons down, controlling the ten they had brought with the ballistae mounted upon them, a rope between them to tether together was a difficult task but he much preferred it to walking beside the two painted lowlanders and the shaman of the wilds. Of course, he kept a slower pace because of that.

Asgrim always missed him until he returned to ground for making encampments. "Argh! Why can you not stay 'pon the ground like a normal mundane! I am stuck with these fools blabbering in their native tongue near incessantly and while the conversation is not what I wish I do find their attitude most bothersome!" Morrigan greeted him with.

"One, I need one person I can trust in the slightest walking other than Asgrim. Two, I cannot stand the walking when we have griffons. We should have left the hound behind and enforced the need of flying." Thorvald sighed. He unhitched the pails off the griffons and saw to it the magnificent beasts had water to drink before seeing to himself. Morrigan shadowed him, not speaking but he found her presence my more comforting that the painted lowlanders that were cooking over the campfire.

"Ah! Our temporary leader!" Thorvald turned to the feminine, accented voice.

"Yes Leliana?" He sighed, tired to his bones.

"Riordan wanted to speak with you, find out how much we know about being Wardens. He said it was important." The ex-bard smiled slightly and shrugged with one shoulder. "He said what I knew was worryingly little..."

"Tis hardly surprising. I take it I am not invited into your exclusive conversation?" Morrigan drawled. "Because if so I shall say goodnight, I will hunt my own food."

"Then be off with you." Leliana sniffed. If Thorvald knew women even in the slightest, those two didn't like each other one bit. It was likely because of that Morrigan really objected to being with them. "Thorvald?"

"I shall be a moment." He dismissed her and saw to taking the bit out of the lead griffon's mouth, stroking the downy feathers of it's neck to calm the purring creature and clicked his tongue soothingly. "I miss them all, this is a nightmare, this is a test from Hakkon Himself! It is like herding cats to be in any command!" He muttered to the griffon. It blinked it's yellow eyes at him.


End file.
